


Botchmen

by DocRetro



Series: Doc Retro's Sitcom Superhero Universe [1]
Category: BoJack Horseman, Frasier (TV), Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Parks and Recreation, Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, Other, Parody, Shared Universe, Vigilantism, sitcoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DocRetro/pseuds/DocRetro
Summary: In a world following the "alien attack" on New York City circa 1985, the spirit of vigilantism only grew in the years to come.  Unfortunately it did so in erratic ways that were even more terrible than the awful people who were friends with that Doctor Manhattan freak, with even weirder and awful people putting on costumes and offering their own brand of justice. Dr. Frasier Crane adopts a cowl based on his avian namesake. But he does not plan on fighting alone... Nor will his enemies be few in numbers either.





	1. The Crane Boys Take Flight

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm gonna level with y'all. I made this because of a joke I made a few days ago and put way too much thought into. Also because DC Comics has the Doomsday Clock comic event and the HBO Watchmen TV series coming up that basically serve as sequels to Watchmen. 
> 
> It also really didn't help I've watched Frasier lately, and absorbed it into my cache of TV shows I've watched. But whatever, I'm here and I'm gonna tell as much of this stupid story as I can muster. I hope you have as much fun reading and laughing at the absurdity of it all as I do whenever I force my friends to listen to outrageous fan theories and crossover ideas between things that frankly, have no right to be crossing over.
> 
> Welcome, one and all: To Botchmen.

High above the streets of Seattle, there loomed apartment 1901 of the Elliot Bay towers. Outwardly there was nothing to distinguish the apartment from any other in the overall complex. But within was a lavish domicile, decorated with only the most careful and intricate furniture, antiques and designer rugs. All save for one raggedy old chair. Miserably held up with duct tape and other methods of crude repair.

And there: Seated on a couch across from it was the stern figure of a man: A man, with a prominent forehead. A suit and tie, for whom his eyes held the fires of inner vision. To the world at large, the psychiatrist Dr. Frasier Crane was a noted radio personality known for helping the people of Seattle—and all else who called his A.M. radio show with their complex, and downright bizarre personal problems. But tonight, he had conceived the strangest project ever imagined. The likes of which, he reasoned: Would finally set this wretched world where evil profited and good spent its days in anguish—

“Frasier, what in god’s name are you doing? Wrapped in a duvet and looking somewhat feverish!”

“Niles, do not interrupt me: I am... BROODING.”

The first voice was softer: It belonged to Frasier’s younger brother Niles: An actual psychiatrist, who still had a legitimate practice that included his own office. Niles was the scrawnier of the two, while Frasier was more heavyset. Either way they were somewhere into their late thirties or early forties by way of age, and their opulent lifestyles of expensive wine and opera only made them slower and weaker. Frasier reached into his coat and produced a small worn-out journal.

“Good lord, Frasier! That’s the journal of noted vigilante… Rorschach!”

“Indeed it is Niles… You recall our former professor, criminal psychiatrist Dr. Malcolm Long. I was having a discussion with him about his current living arrangements when he mentioned he came across Rorschach’s journal at some sleazy tabloid. He read it once, and he read it again… He was hoping to find some sort of closure after his attempt at diagnosing the vigilante failed and it destroyed his psyche. Ruined his marriage. Left him a husk of his former self.”

“And I see it is doing the same to you.” said Niles, taking the journal from Frasier. “Good day, tawdry reading.”

But Frasier took back the journal. And he did so with such feral abandon that Niles was stunned.

“Frasier, what is the MATTER with you?! That book is doing the same to you what it did to Dr. Long!”

“No, no Niles! It has not left me a cynical husk of who I once was. That being a loving man and an efficient psychiatrist!” exclaimed Frasier. Just then, his father’s dog Eddie was scuttling through the living room, causing Frasier to recoil and curse the creature.

            “Oh, justice will come… Justice WILL come. Don’t think I forgot what you did to my carpet, contemptible canine! Look here, Niles. I will impersonate a man: Come, venture into my imagination.”

“I… I think not, Frasier. Your dialogue is almost inspired. Have you recently caught a viewing of Dale Wasserman’s ‘Man of La Mancha’ by chance?”

“Venture, damn you Niles!... I will impersonate a man. One oppressed by the state of his world. Consider how the good and noble are crushed, while evil ever prospers. Is there no way to even those odds, Niles?”

Niles would have spoken up, but Frasier was still in the midst of his stupor. So Niles just rolled his eyes.

“I tell you there was. But as you might recall, our youthful imagination was still running wild with hope given all the costumed adventurers our society had known: The Minutemen of Dad’s days, our own personal favorite, Ozymandias… But then the Keane Act foolishly outlawed them that year! But what if, Niles—What if we were to institute a new act. An act-ion, that is… A CRANE act.”

“Frasier, are you suggesting we become vigilantes?”

“I say why not?!” exclaimed Frasier, raising a finger. “In fact I say we defy the Keane Act, and all those masks aligned so foolishly with the government. That we may render our own identities secret once we don our own masks. I as the Crane-Man, and you as my faithful sidekick, Crane-Boy!”

“Yes, I concur Frasier I—“ and then Niles seemed to freeze in the middle of his smile when Frasier named his alias. “No, _god_ no, Frasier. I’m going to take on a title more befitting than that.”

“And what foray into creativity do you have in mind, Niles?”

“I’m still one of the Crane boys, but I would like something more dignified… Perhaps the ‘Scarlet Crane’, eh?”

“Eh. Keep at it…”

“Very well Perhaps. Erm… Oh I know! I could get a fencing sword again. I could be… Le Bec!”

“French for ‘The Beak!’ Ingenious, Niles! Crane-Man and Le Bec shall ride tonight!... Or at least, whenever we can finish our costumes.”

“I know a fabulous tailor who can keep hush hush and fashion the most pristine silken garments.”

“You’re on mister!” laughed Frasier as he and Niles took up their coats, leaving for the night to acquire costumes, and all else they would need in their pursuit of vigilante justice…

X

Meanwhile…

In the depths of the Northeastern United States-- Philadelphia, Pensylvania… sinister workings were afoot. Writing such a line, one might think there were sinister intentions at work. But alas: only mildly harmful ideas were at play by people who believed they were righteous and good. Perhaps Frasier and the company he keeps may not be the most moral bunch, but their crimes pale in comparison to the actions of a group known only to Philadelphia as ‘The Gang.’

“Go, P-Men!”

Of course, new developments in the department of their harebrained schemes demanded they take other names.

“Mac, stop laughing at the name.” said Dennis, as he adjusted his leotard and domino mask.

“But Dennis,” said the also masked Mac, dressed in a black karate gi and a sick duster coat. “It sounds like we’re the pee men, who pee. As if we’re peeing! And I told you, I’m the Holy Harbinger!”

“Yeah, he’s got you there dude. Like, should I start urinating or--” said Charlie, who was more or less just wearing a long sock tied around his head with two holes cut out so he could see with his eyes, over a green full-body suit. Charlie was currently eating some stale popcorn from a dirty looking paper bag.

“No, what?! We are the PHILADELPHIA-men. The P stands for Philadelphia! Captain America’s A, y’know? You know what that stands for?”

Dennis watched while Mac and Charlie looked at each other.

“Uh. I mean. Y’know.” said Charlie, while Mac vaguely gestured. “… Uh. Andalusia?”

“AMERICA! IT STANDS FOR AMERICA!” exclaimed Dennis. “Alright, maybe we need to work on a new name. Since you bozos wanna crack jokes, what have you got?”

Just then, Mac and Charlie started to hoot and holler a bit.

“Well, since you asked Dennis…” said Mac, before turning to his other friend. “Go ahead, Charlie!”

 “Seeing as we’ve just acquired a new secret base by the docks—with which we might get some crimefighting gear and whatnot set up there, plus we can swim in the port waters, I figured we could call ourselves…”

Mac and Charlie spoke in unison:

“The Sea-Men!”

Dennis took a deep breath, and sighed.

“So let me begin with the one positive here, fellas. I am digging that we have a new secret lair, but I am really not feeling this whole ‘swimming in the VERY FILTHY port waters’ you two speak of, nor the fact we’re naming ourselves strangely close to yet another bodily fluid and y’know. I feel like we could do way better than this. You guys reading me or?”

“Oh nah nah, don’t worry about it Dennis.” said Charlie reassuringly. “The port waters are like totally rejuvenating and stuff. It’ll make us even better crimefighters if we swim around and take in some of the enriching chemically enhanced waters and like… exercise and uplift our spirits!”

“Yeah! I can already feel my super-strength coming back!” said Mac.

“Mac—I mean. Harbinger. You realize no one else has superpowers besides Doctor Manhattan? I mean, provided no one else could… replicate the experiment that turned Dr. Jon Osterman into Doctor Manhattan. Except to create a golden god who could vastly perfect this sinful world…”

“Oh yeah dude.” said Mac, nodding. “Totally sinful. Which is why god has chosen me to crush all who oppose his word! Hee-yah!”

“Yeah, sure Ma—oh crap, it’s Frank and Dee.” gasped Dennis. “Those idiots will ruin everything. Charlie, did you call them?”

“Well yeah, but I guess Dee just latched onto Frank on the way here and you can’t go faultin’ either of us. Frank would make a cool vigilante. Plus he always has a gun.”

“Yeah, I can get behind packing some heat. Who knows what kind of sickos we’ll run into on the streets?” said Dennis, before turning to face Frank and his sister Deeandra. “Halt, citizens. Paddy’s Pub has been commandeered by I, The Laconian.”

“As well as Holy Harbinger!” exclaimed Mac “And Green Man: The Rat King Detective!”

“Oh knock it off you idiots.” said Dee, wearing some sort of bird-based costume. “Me and Frank heard about your vigilante scam and we want in.”

“Scam? This is no scam! The Laconian is honest as he is beautiful and perfect. So perfect that in his infinite yet humble superiority over you losers, he asks you to leave already.”

“Skip the act, Hamlet.” said Frank. “We could get people to pay us money for savin’ their asses! Not to mention. Babes love a man in uniform. And The Trash Man is gonna deliver!”

“Oh I dunno about women Frank—I mean, citizen whose name I guessed.” said Charlie. “I-I uh. I envy the uh… faithful relationship that ordinary citizen Charlie Kelly has with his steady sweetheart… The uh, the Lois Lane to his Clark Kent. Waitress… Waitress. To Charlie Kelly.”

“Charlie would ya just tell me your secret identity? Y’know, so we can get along better as fellow vigilantes.”

With that Charlie took Dee by the shoulders and turned her away while taking off his mask in front of Frank.

“There Frank! Now you, Holy Harbinger and Lactose the intolerant know my secret identity…” said Charlie as Dee turned around suddenly. “AW DEE HOW COULD YOU?! THAT WASN’T FOR YOU TO KNOW! EVERYONE I KNOW AND LOVE IS IN DANGER NOW!”

“Okay, okay. C’mon you guys. Let’s just all agree we’re a team. If we start off as a team, it’ll be easier for us to stick together." said Dennis "The feds don’t much like costumed adventurers and I have a stinking suspicion that there are other masks out there that won’t like us much either. Now before any of you attempt to name our motley little crew, I’ve decided on our name: Henceforth, whenever we ‘The Gang’ of Paddy’s Pub don our costumes and battle villainy as we see fit… We are now the ‘Gallantang…’”

Charlie coughed. Everyone looked at each other.

“The Gallant Gang! Whatever, roll out! Let’s go beat up some bad guys.”

X

Back in Seattle, two parents and their child were traveling through the dank alleyways of the city’s… not quite downtown area, but not quite a trouble-free area either. It was in that moment that a fellow armed with a long sock that had a half brick stuffed into it was accosting that family.

“Gimme the clams, you chumps.”

The parents looked at each other for a moment and handed over all the money they had before having the green dollar bills slapped out of their hands.

“I said clams. I’m itchin’ for some seafood. Why don’t the four of us just mosey along to Red Lobster and the kid doesn’t have to get a tragic backstory tonight.”

But just then, a green silk cape gleamed, and what appeared to be a spandex-clad figure with a pointed beak-like mask. As the clam-burglar-mugger-guy started swinging his sock-with-half-brick improvised weapon, the bird-like vigilante took out a fountain pen and tossed it, the pointed tip cutting into the mugger’s hand and effectively disarming them. But before they could run away, the masked man grabbed the fiend.

“What are you?!” the mugger gasped.

“I’m listening… is what I am.” Said Frasier. He coughed a bit, trying to hide his voice. “Now tell me my friend: What is it that set you upon this life of crime, do you think? What kind of role did your parents have in your life?”

“Well I mean. They were happily married, it’s just that we could rarely pay bills and—“

“Ah! But you forget the Oedipal complex: Clearly you resented your father, and now you seek for a way to prevent him and his infuriating hound from living with you once he approaches old age and a major injury!”

“I think you’re projecting.” said one of the parents. The brief distraction allowed the mugger to run off, as the child stepped forward.

“Are… Are you Batman?”

Frasier chuckled.

“Not at all, my boy! I am the cure to corruption and crime. The analytical ally of justice… the Diagnosing Knight...” Frasier would monologue aloud. “I am... Crane-Man~!”

But the child started crying, becoming deathly afraid of the strange bird themed fellow. The parents muttered an awkward ‘thanks’ that sounded more like a ‘thanks? I think’ as they shuffled off. Meanwhile, Niles had appeared from around the corner with his fencing sword in one hand, as he forced the clam-hungry mugger back towards Frasier. Niles was dressed in similar green and gray colors to Frasier’s costume, but his was more akin to Zorro than Batman.

“And let us not forget Le Bec! Sworn sword-brother to the Crane-Man—“

“Oh, would you give it a rest already Niles?!” bellowed Frasier. “They ran off. The troglodytes… They rejected me as their savior! But at least we can chalk up our first night’s work as a success.”

“Hold on Fr—I mean, Crane-Man. Did you utilize Jungian psychology like I suggested?”

“No, Niles. I used Marvin the Martian’s method.”

“Oh dear. When you go around quoting Freud’s ideas in this day and age like that, of course they’ll think it’s from Mars.”

Frasier gave Niles a vicious glare, and the two hurried back to Frasier’s BMW to deposit the criminal at the nearest police precinct before anyone saw them.


	2. One Flew Over The Crane's Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frasier and Niles acclimate themselves to the seedy underbelly of New York City as they seek answers regarding the mysteries left behind following the events in 1985. Likewise, The Gallant Gang springs into action!...

“Daphne, have ya seen Fraj and Niles anywhere? They promised me they’d take me out to catch the baseball game!”

Martin Crane was an older man. A retired police officer from Seattle. His healthcare worker Daphne Moon was often at her wit’s end caring for him, as well as helping out with Frasier’s chores—and without any significant raise! But at least Frasier allowed her to be a live-in healthcare worker despite his fuming arguments the faithful day they met.

“Oh I dunno about that Mr. Crane. And I thought your American sticks and mitts ball games were later into the day?”

“Well yeah, but Frasier promised we’d pick up one or two of the guys from McGinty’s bar on the way to the stadium.”

Just then, Frasier kicked the door open, hands on his belt in a manner befitting a cowboy with two gun holsters and itchy trigger fingers. Niles was not far behind, wiping off the part of the door that Frasier touched with the sole of his shoe before following.

“There’s not going to be any baseball game!”

“Aw Frasier, you promised!” cried Martin.

“You can witness all the baseball games you want Dad… When we arrive in New York City.”

“New York? Ye mean we’re just up and moving to New York now then, we are?” said Daphne. “Then again… Dr. Crane, by chance ‘ave you embarrassed yourself again lately? That’s the only reason I can think of that you might move away from ‘ere.”

 “What—No Daphne. I am as confident as ever.” lied Frasier. The other night’s events still stung him it seemed. “New York is simply the new seat of the nation. It’s where the ‘action happens’, as they might say. In fact, KACL radio is starting fresh there—Kenny Daly told me himself. Even Roz is packing up like a pioneer and headed there.”

“I won’t lie, Fraj.” said Martin, petting his dog Eddie. “I don’t much like going to New York. Not after what happened in ’85. But if that’s where the money is for psychiatry I guess we gotta put food on the table.”

“Splendid! I’ll call the moving company for all our furniture and whatnot.” said Frasier. “Ah, I’ll handle your things as well Niles. Could you get the plane tickets?”

“Oh boy, economy class.”

Just then, Frasier and Niles laughed profusely at the thought of accommodations that were anything less than classy before hopping over to pour themselves a couple glasses of sherry to celebrate. Frasier’s co-workers at KACL would call once they too had landed, but Frasier could not wait to enter into his new apartment in New York: Which was a stunning recreation of his apartment in Seattle, albeit slightly larger so as to have more rooms inside it.

“Well, that saves the trouble of decorating…” muttered Frasier. “Old apartment rules are in effect.”

Everyone else had nearly argued, but decided they were too jet lagged to bother and got back to the usual routine. Eventually Martin, Daphne and Eddie left the apartment to go for a walk in the neighborhood. Deviously, Frasier and Niles looked to each other before Frasier took up a marble bust of some eminent figure of the arts, or perhaps of psychology. The head lifted to reveal a secret red button, which in turn allowed Frasier and Niles to venture into a secret compartment that housed their crime lab. For the solving of crimes, but in a very expensive and intricate manner.

“So why are we in here again, Frasier? I still haven’t even unpacked.”

“Clearly Niles, there is work to be done. We are not only here to trace the lineage of our masked predecessors, but to study the alien attack and deduce the location of Doctor Manhattan. I believe the attack forced him into a retreat.”

“Why? I thought we’d be all the vigilantism this city needed. Actually, is Seattle going to be alright without us?”

“Of course Niles! It will know other protectors.”

“Well, let’s just hope they forget about Crane-Man’s first and only outing against that mugger.”

Frasier stared at Niles for the longest time, before moving over to a large screen and keyboard: The Crane Computer.

“We will resume our crimefighting activities… In order to find leads on our investigation, we must get used to life here in the Big Apple. Niles, will you take my hand and go with me on this adventure?”

“Indeed. Your sword-brother is with you.”

Niles and Frasier had a handshake, and donned their respective costumes before taking to the streets. They took to Frasier’s BMW, activating a mechanism built into the vehicle that replaced the license plates with new ones that bore the Crane-Man symbol.

“How come it’s got your emblem and not mine?”

“Upgrade your _own_ car, Niles.”

And they rushed off into the night at speeds just above five miles above the posted speed limit. They occasionally stopped to approach jaywalkers and graffiti artists, attempting to scold and analyze them to determine the reasoning for their ‘infractions’. Of course this mostly ended with Frasier and Niles backed into corners, fighting for their lives against yuppies and rightfully annoyed street artists and performers.

“Le Bec, look out!’ cried Frasier as he punched a mime. “Perhaps the science of psychology was too much for you, brigand! Try the SWEET science!... Of Pugilism!”

Niles was working himself to exhaustion, swinging his saber around as he tried to keep some distance between himself and their foes. But then he yelped as a man was tossed in his direction, nearly toppling poor Niles. Frasier was keeping his fists raised up, swinging haphazardly. His strikes caught a couple of people in the jaws.

“Crane-Man! Look, they’re retreating!”

“That’s right you nincompoops! Iconoclasts! Society has had enough of your impudent sorts! Crane-Man and Le Bec are the roaring tide of justice!”

Niles and Frasier had a hearty laugh.

“Oh, oh Crane-Man, look now! They’re—oh. They’re getting a cop.”

“Then what are you waiting for, a ticket?! Run Le Bec!”

And the two scrambled back towards where Frasier parked the BMW.

X

Cricket was a miserable creature.

His days in the priesthood ended when his ‘old flame’ Dee had spurned his affections and the rest of The Gang had—on multiple occasions, harmed him until he finally had enough. He was wrapped in dirty old rags he’d found while dumpster diving, to hide the various scars, burns and other damage that had been done to him over the years. He looked like a zombie, but for all his wounds he was a living, lonesome man with all the thoughts that came with being penniless, constantly imperiled and punted to the gutters. He was currently peering into the display window of a store with TVs tuned to the local news.

“Our top story tonight: A criminal group calling itself ‘The Big Gang Theory’ has taken the entire science department of the university of Pennsylvania hostage. City hall has been negotiating with the Big Gang Theory for the release of the hostages once the BGT has been provided transportation to escape with the university’s research data and equipment in tow.”

Cricket blinked. One eye was still good, and the other had an eerie layer of film over it that made the pupil almost disappear, the eye almost completely white. Just then, something else happened on-screen:

“— Wait. I have just received reports that yet another group has been spotted on the rooftop of the science department and is currently trying to enter the facility. We are uncertain as to who they are, but will keep you posted as the story develops.”

Cricket scowled as the helicopter crew of the news team shined a spotlight on the Gallant Gang. The Holy Harbinger was dancing—or rather, doing muddled karate moves while the others were rushing to get inside the building. Just then, the shortest one, the Trash Man, was firing his snubnose revolver at the news copter, forcing it to fly away.

“Just you wait, Gallant Gang. For the arrival of your greatest nemesis… Yes. I must prepare. And then I will emerge like a butterfly! Nyeahahaha!!!”

X

Sheldon Cooper hadn’t been the same since he became a criminal. No, that’s a lie. He was always the same awful person he’d always been. His old acquaintances were off doing their own thing. So it was up to him to form his new criminal organization: The Big Gang Theory. But maybe once he achieved some degree of success in this new enterprise, he could convince his old friends to join him as his companions of chaos.

“Lord Sheldon.” said a Nasally-sounding goon. “We’ve secured all the equipment and every hostage has been accounted for.”

“Of course they have, you imbecile. My plan was so perfect, even one with a roast beef brain such as yourself could follow it. I will go forth to examine the results myself before we depart with the provisions I’ve arranged for city hall to give to us.”

“Yes sir…” sighed the nasally goon.

“Are you sighing because you believe I’m doomed to fail again?!”

“N-No sir!” cried the goon.

“Well look here: That insolent clown ‘The Fresh Prince’ isn’t here to stop us. He’s back in Bel-Air, busy with his insignificant little slice of turf.”

“And what’s that make us, huh?”

Sheldon gasped as the form of the masked man appeared at the end of the hall.

“I’ve heard of you. You’re the Laconian.”

“Indeed I am, my man. Gaze upon this.” said Dennis, flexing his out of shape body as if he were Adonis himself. “And despair.”

“You might as well go admire your reflection, you dunce. I have numerous armed henchmen at the ready. What hope do you possibly have to stop us?”

“Heh heh. Well, not to brag there _Sheldumb_ , but uh. We’ve already won.”

“Who’s we, you braggart, you buffoon?”

“The Gallant Gang.”

Dennis threw a sharp dart at Sheldon, who let off a high-pitched scream while his nasally-voiced goon wildly fired off their submachine gun. Dennis had run off—disappeared from sight, but his foot falls could still be heard as he threw more darts around. Sometimes they hit, sometimes they didn’t. The aim was all too dubious. A dazed goon managed to pull out a dart though and tried to tackle Dennis.

“OOMPH.”

They halfway succeeded, and the two awkwardly stumbled around into desks and whatnot. Dennis wrestled with his opponent, but it wasn’t until a well-placed kick sent them both to the ground, Dennis unable to get up as the goon was now laying on top of him and was currently being punched into unconsciousness by the Holy Harbinger—by Mac.

“BOOM. WHUP, WHUP, WHUP—WHUPOW!”

“Harbinger! Thanks for the clumsy save. Now get this guy off of me!”

Sheldon was crawling behind desks, going for one of his injured goons so he could take their pistol, but the body was too far away. He’d be at it a while, so he took up his walkie talkie and roared into it:

“Someone, STOP THEM!”

Just then, one of the larger, stronger guards had come running after Charlie and Dee.

“Think fast, Dee!”

“What? Oh CHARLIE YOU BAST—“

Before they knew it, Charlie had shoved Dee into the larger henchman, throwing them off a bit while Charlie produced a filthy, but sturdy wooden stick: The "Rat Bat." With a fierce war cry the Green Man set upon both the henchman and his supposed ally Dee—the Ostrichette. By now Sheldon had gotten over towards one of his injured men and procured a handgun.

“The Pee… Sea… Men… Whatever you people call yourselves! You’re done for!”

Just then, the firing hammer of a revolver cocked behind Sheldon’s head: The Trash Man was upon him.

“Yeah, I don’t think so bub.” said Frank, taking Sheldon up onto his feet and kicking the gun away. “C’mon ya milksop. We’re gonna get lots of facetime with the cameras.”

“Frank—Frank you idiot, what are you doing?!” cried Dennis.

“I’m tired of operatin’ in the shadows Dennis! I’m gonna get my masked mug in the news and start getting’ some advertisin’ deals or somethin’! So women know I’m out there protectin’ ‘em and whatnot.”

“Frank, buddy. You know what the cops will do to you dude!” said Charlie. “Don’t go, man.”

“Yeah…” grunted Dee. “You’re the only one packing heat. The rest of us are still saving up to buy weapons.”

Frank thought it over for a moment. He was deep in thought, before waddling out the front doors of the building with Sheldon in tow.

“Screw you guys! I’m hittin’ the BIG TIME!”

But by the time Frank made it outside, SWAT officers with tasers zapped him and Sheldon. The rest of the Gallant Gang were forced to escape for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more hard-hitting vigilante action. What will happen to Frank? Will Niles and Frasier reveal their secrets to their loved ones? Will the Big Gang Theory fully assemble? Who is the mysterious 'Fresh Prince' of Bel-Air?'
> 
> Find out soon: Same Botch-Time, Same Botch-Channel!


	3. Lines Connecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frasier attempts to acclimate himself to life in New York, hoping to carry over his radio show and become a local celebrity all over again. Meanwhile, Niles finds he's never felt more alive than he has as a costumed adventurer. The forces of the good, the bad, and the ugly all make their move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, some might wonder why I chose Watchmen as the major driving piece in a shared universe for mostly sitcoms and a few other pieces of media. Would making it a generic superhero setting have worked just as well? I think not. 
> 
> I largely want to keep this setting about non-powered, pulp style vigilantes with /almost/ superhuman skill and special gadgets to make up for the lack of powers. Though that's just the majority of characters. Perhaps a few might appear and be of a more metahuman nature if I see fit to do so in the story. But only time will tell. And that's not even counting some of the thematic and plot junk.
> 
> Until then, enjoy another installment of Botchmen.

“Good morning listeners of New York! You’re listening to the Dr. Frasier Crane show… I’m listening!”

And with those words, Frasier began his show anew in the city of New York. His steadfast producer Roz Doyle was screening calls and making sure all matters on the technical end of things were in order.

“Alright, Roz! Who’s our first caller to the new Manhattan headquarters of KACL talk radio?”

“On line one we have Maller who needs advice on how to be his best self and on line two we have… hang on. Mantis Toboggan? I’m trying to figure out what his problem is.”

“Put Maller on first. Let’s see if I can’t dispense that advice.” said Frasier, as Roz hit the switch and Maller was on the line. “Hello Mr. Maller: You’re live with Frasier Crane. I’m listening!”

“Yeah uh, HI. I was WONDERING if there any possible WAY I could… REALIZE my PLACE in this world.” said Maller, emphasizing certain words for no discernable reason. Frasier looked to Roz and she could only shrug.

“Ah, well. What is it about your life that you feel you’re not doing your best at?”

“See, I tried my hand at being a private EYE.” said Maller, Frasier nodding along. “I was GOOD at it. Laying low some LOW-LIVES and doing lots of WHOOPEE. I was so incredibly PROFICIENT when I would—“

“Yes! Well. My keen powers of psychiatric… observation have told me the rest!”

“WOW. You’re a regular Doctor MANHATTAN. Y’know THAT?”

“Oh ho ho, please Maller. Let’s return to the matter at hand, shall we? Why did you stop being a private investigator?”

“Because people keep throwing TRASH at me and THREATENING to SET FIRE TO MY APARTMENTS.”

“Oh. Well, in that case perhaps you could consider directing your particular skillset to erm… recreational Kickboxing! And ah… amateur journalism! And… perhaps take an interest in reading mystery novels?”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

“Mr. Maller? Mr. Maller, are you still with us?”

“I think I READ you, Dr. Crane. What YOU’RE saying is I should seek a little extra TRAINING and take up the MASKED CRUSADER STUFF.”

“Now Mr. Maller that is nowhere near what I was suggesting. If you stay on the line Roz will refer you to a specialist who would be more than happy to help you—“

“Help ME? No one can help me but ME. Only ME can help EVERY one. Thank you DOCTOR Crane. Justice RIDES tonight! AHAHAHAHA!!--”

The line cut abruptly. Frasier was actually in a cold sweat.

“C-Can we get Mr. Toboggan up next, Roz?!”

Frasier cleared his throat. And he put on his best face as if Toboggan was present in the studio itself. And then Toboggan started shouting, causing Frasier to seize up as he wore headphones while taking callers.

“Frasier! Frasier, listen. Ya gotta help me out here. I’m the vigilante—Trash Man! I just gave the fuzz a fake name and I need ya to… to get a public movement or somethin’ to free me! Or get somebody to bust me out!”

“Oh. Well, I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of pull Mr. Toboggan. But in the spirit of aiding worthy causes, I allow you to use your time on my show to cry out for help—“

“Yeah yeah, fat lotta good you are. Mr. two-bit psychiatrist.”

Frasier looked at Roz. She was currently covering her microphone, trying not to laugh on the air as Trash Man spoke:

“Callin’ all vigilantes and friends of vigilantes. Forget the Keane act! I’m being hauled down to New Jersey for some awful reason. Find me! Find me!”

There was distant shouting as ‘Mr. Toboggan’ sounded like he was fighting off whoever pulled him away from the phone, and then the line was cut. Frasier thought about it for a moment. He wished he knew more about who this ‘Trash Man’ was. If he proved to be a valuable ally, then perhaps it was high time the Crane-Man intervened.

“So Roz, who’s our next caller?”

“Actually, we’re about to cut to commercial.”      

“Ah! Good, good. We’ll be back right after this!”

Frasier was headed for the door, hoping to catch the news early. One of the bonuses of already being a radio employee meant he could get all the latest information. He’d caught wind of an attempted robbery in Pennsylvania by the Big Gang Theory—and thwarted by a mysterious, Philadelphia-based vigilante group.

 _Yes!”_ thought Frasier. _“Others I can ally myself with. Though beloved and sensitive radio star psychiatrist Dr. Frasier Crane cannot do anything more—this was exactly why Crane-Man was born!”_

But then he read about how dubious The Gallant Gang really was, and immediately threw back the documents he’d borrowed from the news team. He did not like the sound of these people—the Laconian had some creativity in naming himself, but as with the rest of his team, they were known for using excessive force and were terribly crude. How that infuriated Frasier! If they were going to use excessive force, they should have done it in style like he and Niles did.

 _But… if I turn my back on the closest thing I presently have to comrades-in-arms…”_ thought Frasier, taking on a second opinion. _“… Would I doom myself to a lonely vigil? And they, to an unjust fate at the hands of a cruel government!”_

“Hey Frasier.” said Roz, poking her head into the room. “You’re on in three minutes. Lemme know if you need me to stall so you can monologue some more.”

“GAH! Roz, you can read my thoughts?!”

“No, but I’ve noticed a _lot_ of men in New York just love to have their little inner monologues. Sometimes it’s cute, sometimes they make a big thing out of it and then it gets weird and I have to leave the date early.” said Roz. “And you’ve got so much ego on you I figured you’d adopt that habit.”

“Ah well! Perhaps I am attempting to catch onto the local trends in order to boost my popularity here on the east coast! Heh.”

“Hah! Yeah, that’s a good move there, doc.”

Just then, KACL station manager Kenny Daly appeared beside Roz, poking his head in as well until Frasier (given a surprised jolt once again) finally stepped out in the hallway to address his friends and co-workers.

“Kenny! Did you hear everything?!”

“Wh—no! I just wanted to be part of the discussion. Gil Chesterton’s recovering from some food poisoning and I’m trying to get Bulldog Briscoe to calm down. He’s been throwing some uh, some tantrums lately but it’s perfectly understandable! The move to NYC is taking a lot out of us.”

“A lot out of us, but Bulldog?” scoffed Roz. “He’s just upset he commutes to work from New Jersey.”

“… Why?” asked Frasier.

“Eh, all the jokes about Jersey people tell here in New York. He’ll get over it—let’s get back into the studio and finish the show.’

Frasier nodded. Now that he was a vigilante with quite a few pieces of high-tech equipment, or at least as much as he could currently afford between that and luxuries like opera tickets and fine wine-- he could accomplish so much more. And as he finished his radio show, he thought to himself one last time about his vigilante work:

_"Soon, New York will hear the name Crane-Man, and it shall be synonymous with a superb superhero striking out against the forces of villainy!”_

X

Niles was jumping from rooftop to rooftop: Gymnastics and parkour training had finally gotten to the point he could effectively travel through the city on his own. He occasionally had to ask for directions however, since he was still new to the city. But otherwise Le Bec was doing well!

_“I really need to get a plate-changing gadget for my car like Frasier’s. But I suppose this is also invigorating… and unlike Frasier I’ve taken to feats of agility much better than he has! Maybe now Daphne will finally notice me…”_

But just as Niles was about to head to the apartment to enter through the window and charm Daphne with his new, ultra-confident vigilante persona he spotted a man on the street below, carrying a crackerjack box. The cardboard was soggy as if filled with water or ice. He was frantically getting onto a bus, followed by a man with a gleam of steel in his hand. Niles gasped at the sight: It was a gun!

Niles cautiously approached the bus, seeing that it had begun moving. He yelped, and scrambled after the vehicle, jumping onto the roof of the bus with a fall that left him a little shaky—but Niles found it so very exhilarating! He climbed to the edge of the bus to hang upside down: He saw the man with the soggy crackerjack box talking to the bus driver, when the gunman pulled out his weapon and began attempting to rob the passengers. The man with the crackerjack box tried to jump out of the bus, but the gunman had their weapon trained on him.

“Where do you think you’re going, crackerjack?” said the gunman.

Seeing no other recourse, Niles began tapping on the glass to try and draw his attention.

“Yoohoo!”

The gunman turned and gasped, before drawing their weapon. The passenger inside the bus screamed and ducked while Niles got back onto the top of the roof. The glass of the window shattered, and then the gunfire stopped: followed by the sound of a man grunting, as if from a punch to the gut.

“Well, I got a little prize for ya, buddy!” came the voice of the crackerjack man.

Niles snaked his way into the bus through the broken window very awkwardly and stood in the middle, his saber drawn.

“Hngh!”

But there was very little that Niles could do, as the crackerjack man and the gun-wielding mugger were wrestling with each other, crashing into the driver at one point. Niles dived for the crackerjack box—which had been dropped by the owner. The mugger was knocked aside briefly, and Niles passed the crackerjack box back to the owner.

“What’s he want?!” shouted Niles.

“In the box—is a pinky toe! I think the guy’s workin’ for some kinda black market organ dealin’ operation or something!” said the crackerjack man, who Niles could see was wearing a modified welding mask with an adjustable lens that could darken or lighten up—and currently it was lightened so that Niles could see the concern in the crackerjack man’s eyes. “The lady it belonged to-- got on the ambulance before the EMT’s could find it. So I stuffed it into a crackerjack box fulla ice and—and now I have to get it there fast!”

“Are you a vigilante too?!”

The crackerjack man slapped a hand to his face to feel the welding mask before nodding.

“Yes! I’m… I’m ‘The Kramer!’ Which is totally different from my real name!—The alias is a work in progress!”

“Well, mister bus driver. That’s enough excitement for one day. Pull over the bus and I’ll take the criminal while you get this mask and the crackerjack box to the hospital.”

“Right—yeah, Gotcha!... Wait, you can call me… uh. Odd Jobber? Yeah, Odd Jobber! Forget I ever said the name Kramer!”

“Secret identity. Understood!” said Niles with a nod “… Is it just me, or is the bus still moving? And swaying dangerously on the road, even?!”

The two looked over: The altercation between Odd Jobber and the mugger had knocked the bus driver unconscious. Without thinking, Odd Jobber grabbed the wheel. Just then, the mugger/black market thug had hopped back into action and was strangling Odd Jobber. Niles would have fought him off, but he was too busy trying to wrestle the pistol out of the mugger’s hand. He couldn’t allow it to harm any of the passengers, nor himself and Odd Jobber. People were ringing the bell, demanding to be let off already.

“For heaven’s sake, Odd Jobber! Stop the bus!”

“N-No…” rasped Odd Jobber “... inconveniencing… fellow New Yorkers!... Know this feeling…”

And the most astounding thing happened: Odd Jobber opened the bus door to kick the mugger out onto the sidewalk near a cop car before shutting the doors and resuming the normal route. Niles attended to the original bus driver. And then Odd Jobber drove everyone else to their original destinations—not a single bus stop missed, and then they went straight for the hospital once the bus was close enough to the one the woman with the missing toe was admitted to. Afterwards, Odd Jobber met Niles in the waiting room. They could leave now, but before going their separate ways Niles had to speak to him.

“Were you… were you related to this woman in any way?”

“I think a friend dated her.”

“Good golly. And you went to all this trouble?...”

Odd Jobber put an arm around Niles’s shoulder and started walking him out.

“You… You ain’t been in New York long, have ya? I can see it in your eyes. I won’t lie to ya, bird boy--”

“Le Bec.”

“Leblanc. Lending Library. Linoleum. It’s all good. We are all good. We slip up! We do weird things. Awful things to each other. But people lookin’ out for each other? That’s the real stuff! And us masked fellas. We hold ourselves up to that ideal more than anyone.”

Niles thought it over. Was this what his brother meant when he suggested they fight crime? No, not simply to fight crime. To sally forth and right all wrongs! Comfort to the afflicted, and to afflict the comfortable.

“… Thank you, Odd Jobber. Here.” said Niles, handing over his vigilante business card. “If you should ever have need of myself or that of he for whom I am sword-brother to—that is, the Crane-Man, we will come to your aid.”

“Aw whaddya know! I can write ya some details of my own down if you could spare me a note, a pencil and a minute.”

With that, the two vigilantes went their separate ways: Niles had tried his hand at using a grappling hook to climb back up to the rooftops, as he’d received a summons from Frasier. Odd Jobber waved goodbye, and at the sound of a police siren he was running like a coward towards his apartment building…

X

“I’m not here to play games. I fought hard to make it down to Jersey.”

Cricket met with some seedy gangsters in the backroom of a New Jersey laundromat—where the mob did some of its big stakes gambling. One gangster nodded to another, and they produced a large suitcase. Inside, wrapped in layers upon layers of plastic was a glowing piece of artificial flesh: The alien creature that had supposedly attacked New York in 1985.

“And this is the original one? Not one of those other ones that appeared in the years following?”

“Ehhh, give or take a year or two.”

With a shrug, Cricket shrugged and took to eating the strange meats. He tingled and twitched a bit, but otherwise looked like he was just barely managing to stave off a debilitating illness.

“Hey hey!” exclaimed a gangster. “Youse didn’t pay us up yet!”

“… I don’t need to pay. Now that I have UNLIMITED POWER!”

Cricket extended one arm, holding his hand out to the face of a gangster. And absolutely nothing happened. I’m talking zip, nada. Like Cricket was more or less about as powerful as a middle schooler who thought they were a demon.

“Oh crap. Well see… I mean. What’s money between us villains, am I right? I’ll pay you guys back after my powers kick in and we go on a heist and—“

Guns clicked.

“Ain’t nobody got superpowers besides Doctor Manhattan. You’re about as good as pulled pork, pal.”

They unloaded their weapons on Cricket. Admittedly it was overkill, but they had a lot of stress they wanted to release and it seemed that due to Cricket’s ruse holding them up, they wouldn’t be able to de-stress at their pottery class that night. And they’d already missed a couple of classes doing mafia work. Not exactly a recipe for joy.

“Hah! He’s been perforated in such a manner as to make ‘im comparable to ehh… a piece of swiss cheese like dey got in doze old cartoons! Yeah!”

The gangsters all turned away to laugh amongst themselves. Not noticing that Cricket was twitching. And all he would leave behind was the trail of his blood as he crawled outside to lay in the trash for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the law is unjust, then let justice be a bunch of hooligans.
> 
> Dead men tell no tales, but their works published in life finally get the attention they deserve years later.
> 
> You will find fault with your favorite brand of cereal.
> 
> All this cryptic bullshit and more, True Believers. 
> 
> Stay classy till next time.


	4. Mingling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frasier seeks more allies, but this time not by way of costumed adventurers. Meanwhile, a battle ensues on the other side of the country...

"Frasier! I made it! I’m not late for your little soiree!”

“Niles, you’re still wearing your hat and mask!”

Niles turned sharply on his heels and scrambled into Frasier’s room to take the costume pieces off while Frasier got the door: He had been called by an eminent politician to congratulate him on his move to New York, and perhaps to discuss a merger over a small party.

“Come in, come in! And a fine welcome to everyone!” exclaimed Frasier.

“Before I let my people through,” said a man with a mustache and red sweater. “I would like to warn you in advance that I myself will consume the meats first before all else, and that the rest of my staff will likely do away with your alcohol.”

“Oh, yes erm. Daphne, double-check the lock on the wine cabinet and tell dad he and Duke are allowed to bring even more strong liquor.”

“Oh, he’ll have a field day with that Dr. Crane!” laughed Daphne, as she moved along towards the wine cabinet. “Oh Niles, have ye seen that wonderful Crane-Man and Beak Boy in action lately?”

“Ah, you mean… Crane-Man and Le Bec.” said Niles, getting a glass of sherry in before anyone else touched the bottle.

“Yes, that’s it! Crane-Man’s a bit questionable I think, but that Le Bec… what a man! I don’t think I’ve seen swordfighting like that since Errol Flynn graced the silver screen.”

“… Really?”

“Yes. I would do anything to meet him. Maybe he could give me some tips on the crimefighting game?... Oh, look at you Niles! Don’t look so surprised. I’m only joking.”

“Oh! Yes! Haha!” came Niles’s forced laugh. “… But if he did offer to train you, would you say yes? You know, on the down low to protect your secret identity.”

Daphne actually had to stop and think about it, but changed the subject when she saw something in the oven was done cooking. And naturally, Niles followed her into the kitchen to help out. Meanwhile, Frasier was approached by a shorter blonde woman with a vibrant smile and a spring in her step: Her suit and political buttons pinned to the jacket indicated she was the one that had suggested the party and alliance with Frasier.

“Congresswoman Leslie Knope! It is a supreme honor to finally meet you!”

“And you Dr. Crane! I haven’t heard much of your show, but I can tell you’re a real go-getter.” said Leslie, shaking his hand. “Off to the side is my husband Ben—and many of my colleagues from the federal offices.”

 “They seem a bit new to New York as well, if you don’t mind me saying?”

“Oh yes, we used to be the Parks and Rec department in Pawnee Indiana before one of those giant alien squids detonated. We were the last line of government authority and we did our best … But Pawnee was lost. So we kept our heads up and decided to head here to New York. Most of the major political action happens here these days. It’s almost rivaling D.C.”

“Ah. Well, I apologize for the loss of your hometown Congr—“

“Please, just call me Leslie. If I might call you Frasier?”

“Yes. That will do just fine. Now you suggested the two of us pool our efforts?”

“That’s right, Frasier. Your radio show and expertise on mental health could be just the thing I need to help clean up the city. I don’t just want to tackle things from a bureaucratic angle, I want to win hearts and minds! It’s the people we’re doing this for.”

“Leslie, I must say that your ambitions are immense. I fervently pursue optimism in these trying times, and seek out some humanitarian effort on my part: I am not the richest of New York’s upper crust, but I have a pretty penny in my bank account that could go to good causes. And coupled with my semi-celebrity status, perhaps I can also be a noble… man. Nobleman. Hah!”

There was a chuckle before Frasier spoke again, reciting a dialogue he’d once read:

_“When we fully understand the brevity of life, its fleeting joys and unavoidable pains; when we accept the facts that all men and women are approaching an inevitable doom: the consciousness of it should make us more kindly and considerate of each other. This feeling should make men and women use their best efforts to help their fellow travelers on the road, to make the path brighter and easier as we journey on. It should bring a closer kinship, a better understanding, and a deeper sympathy for the wayfarers who must live a common life and die a common death…”_

“Is that a quote from something?”

“Why yes. It was one of the writings of Clarence Darrow. I have found the first portion of it has served to remind me of my goals. Well—our goals, as my brother Niles is also to partake in the charity work.”

“You are a very erudite, yet caring man, Frasier.” said Leslie, with a big smile. “I know I’ve made the right decision with you as an ally to my campaign.”

Just then, Martin Crane was seated on his chair, watching the latest news report with everyone else in the apartment gradually turning and muttering among themselves.

“Hey Frasier!” exclaimed Martin. “Look over here—it’s that masked guy from the west coast, the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air!”

X

“We’re live just outside of Universal Studios where Hollywoo celebrity Bojack Horseman has been spotted, shirtless and currently on a rampage that has currently led him to take hostages inside the Terminator 2 attraction building. Authorities have attempted to subdue Horseman, but were unable to do so non-lethally. What few bystanders managed to see stated that Bojack was not only just quick enough to avoid being struck by any officers, fighting them off with—hold on. With a fireplace poker and raw physical strength. Here with me now is the Bel-Air vigilante known as ‘The Fresh Prince.’ Mr. Prince, what can you tell us about the situation?”

Just then, the costumed adventurer turned away from waving to fans and shaking their hands to address the camera crew and reporter.

“Well, I gotta keep it real with you guys: Bojack has always been in and outta the limelight, for better or for worse and while I can’t help what he’s done in the past it’s always been a mission of mine to try and help him out. Not just to get him to some smelly holding facility, but to get him some therapy, some rehab—the whole deal.”

“Mr. Prince, have you at all been in touch with Will Smith following his recent attempts to reach out to Bojack and his associates?”

“You could say that, yeah. I’m on great terms with Mr. Smith and I hope his career goes super well. As for his relations to Bojack—”

“Do you believe he might be aiding Bojack?”

“What? No. Also, I ain’t just here to cover for him: I know he’s hurt people. And I’m gonna stop him not just so he won’t have to deal with any extra guilt, but to give the people he’s ended up hurting some peace of mind. But the Fresh Prince is gonna do it without anyone dying.”

“Bold words from the Fresh Prince. Good luck in there.”

The Fresh Prince would confidently stride right for the front doors. He wanted Bojack to know he was there. To distract the disgraced actor while the ‘hostages’ escaped. Truth was Fresh Prince was familiar with Bojack’s rampages: He had harmed people before during these rampages. But blindly so, the furious fits overtaking him. But if Fresh Prince could catch him on one of his blue periods—he could talk to Bojack. Sure, Bojack would give some ridiculous speech about how awful he was to garner sympathy, but the Fresh Prince, as well as his secret identity as Will Smith—knew from past encounters that Bojack’s talk had to be broken down like a wall that lead into the (horse)man’s heart. As he advanced deeper through the Terminator 2 attraction, he found hidden, terrified people. He instructed them to leave immediately, while he went deeper into the building. Past the ‘park staff only’ doors and into the inner workings of the place. Where the animatronics and machinery were kept.

_“You.”_

Will turned to see Bojack around a corner. Fallen to the ground, sweating and huffing all the while as if he were about to die. But before Will could do anything to help, Bojack got up slowly. He was on his knees when he spoke:

“How many times are we gonna keep doing this? Before you have to kill me?”

“That ain’t how I play, Bojack. You know there are people on the outside who can help you, even if it seems like they can’t.  You know you’ve got problems but you keep feeding into them.”

“Yeah? I try to isolate myself! But fat lotta good _that’s_ done! People still keep heading my way like I’m the damn promised land!”

“Then don’t. Look Bojack: I know you don’t know me that well, what with my mask lending itself to creating a mystery as to who I am. But you have to know that I hate throwing punches at you. I hate watching the people desperately trying to help you fall apart. And before you say it—Nah, I don’t hate you. I hate what you let yourself become.”

Bojack wanted to argue. But he was so exhausted. So tired of all the struggling. Will extended a gloved hand to Bojack, and the actor reached for it. But his arm seized up with pain, and it landed on the floor. It was closer to an unopened pair of flasks.

“Bojack. Bojack no!—”

Bojack swiped up the flasks before will could intervene. The pain he felt in his aching arm would be worth if he got drunk, he reasoned. And once Bojack had a little more to drink he was back in the fight. Bojack charged at Will more like a bull than a horse before colliding with and damaging some of the animatronics. He tore off an animatronic arm and swung it at Will, smashing everything around him in showers of sparks while Will pleaded for him to see reason. That is, until Will could take no more, and punched Bojack in the gut with a body blow. And another body blow. And another! It was a rapid-fire pummeling until Bojack finally swatted him aside.

**_“BOJACK!”_ **

But Bojack had run out the door back towards the exit. Will hurried after him, but by the time he got there he spotted Bojack in the distance: Evading the searchlight of a police helicopter. When he wasn’t victorious, Will didn’t like for the Fresh Prince to be caught by the public eye. But more than anything right now, Will was just upset with himself that he still couldn’t do something to help Bojack, or to avenge the friends he once shared with the other actor.

Once he was outside via a backdoor, Will hit a button on his keychain. The Fresh-Cycle rolled up before him, and he made his way back home to his own estate.

“Geoffrey, prep the ‘pool house’ for the Fresh-Cycle.” said Will, speaking into his own private communicator device.

“It will be done, Master Will. I should also remind you that your cousins have invited you to another party of theirs. Shall I do away with this invitation as the others these solemn years?”

“You remember as well as I do that it’s just Ashley and Nicky sending those.”

“Does it make it sting any less sir, that Carlton is still bitter with you? Hilary I know naught, as she tends to spend most of her time overseas these days.”

Will didn’t respond until he returned to the manor: It was Uncle Phil’s last gift to him: After all. Before Uncle Phil’s untimely demise, he and Geoffrey had both known of Will’s crusade. Surprisingly, it had began after Will had survived an encounter with a gunman while at an ATM machine, and saving his cousin Carlton's life. But it wasn’t the mugger that inspired him to take up crimefighting: Rather, it was the fact that Carlton—who sought to study and become a lawyer as his father Phillip had, was disillusioned with the legal system. Will had his doubts with it himself, but Carlton had gone out and bought a gun. Just remembering when he demanded that Carlton hand the weapon over, he was almost ready to cry again. He'd lost good childhood friends that way when he lived in Philadelphia long ago.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. it was all said and done: Carlton still continued his legal work and became the district attorney of Los Angeles. He was tough on crime, and lax on vigilantes, as long as they weren’t too extreme in their actions. And sometimes, Will envied how much closer the Fresh Prince could be to Carlton than the man’s own cousin, Will. But this crusade demanded he keep going, because he couldn’t stand the thought of someone becoming as cold as Carlton was these days.

“Shall I prep the first aid kit, William?”

“I’m good, Geoffrey. It’s all good. Y’know sometimes I still wonder why you stuck around with me.”

 “It’s because I know your secret identity, as well as the fact that I would defend you time and time again against Master Carlton. To think, the day when you the hooligan—always a source of trouble, ended up being more worthy of my defense than Master Phillip’s well-behaved firstborn son.”

“Maybe he has a right to be angry. And maybe I don’t deserve that kind of defense, Geoffrey.”

“No, of course not. What you need is a new Kevlar-lined suit and perhaps some additional defense measures. Your heart will have to make do. In the meantime, if you are certain you need not medical attention, I encourage you to take to a hearty dinner: I have taken the liberty of including your grandmother’s hearty sweet potato pie recipe in the proceedings. And I should hope your words no longer take a cue from that poor wretch, Mr. Horseman.”

Will gave Geoffrey a high-five plus the rest of the night off and made his way to the kitchen to take his dinner and then head for bed. He would after all, be quite busy once he stepped back into his civilian life.

X

Leslie Knope was on one of the New York streets. Not a busy one, but it was also deserted of any potential criminals. Just a terribly dull spot to be unless you were inside one of the buildings, or dwelling in the limited comfort of some alley. Her husband, Ben Wyatt—now Ben Knope, was currently on the phone with the babysitter he’d hired to watch their children. Leslie was trying to get a tow truck for her vehicle.

“This is taking forever. And as much as I love April and the rest of our team at the department I don’t want her to be near our children longer than she needs to.”

“It’ll be alright, honey. Not the first time this car’s crapped out on us.”

“But perhaps the last! Consider purchasing a new model.”

Leslie and Ben gasped at the sight before them: The Crane-Man was gliding down towards them. With shaky steps the masked man landed. He looked to Leslie and Ben: One at a time that is, as the cowl did not allow for Crane-Man to turn his head. He had to turn his entire body to face in the direction he wished to view. Much like the original costume Micheal Keaton wore in the 1989 Batman film by Tim Burton.

“You’re that guy. Birdbrain.” said Leslie.

“No—honey, it’s Crane-Man. He’s kind of like Batman, which is equally cool.” Ben chimed in.

“Yes, thank you Mr. Knope. But Congresswoman Knope—I believe I can help you with your problem here.”

“Oh? With some mechanical know-how to fix our engine?”

“No, I’ll tow it myself. The Cranemobile is equipped for such a purpose… It may not be Speed Racer’s Mach 5, but it has some notable features. And if I might add, it is a BMW! Join me in my vehicle now?”

Leslie and Ben looked to each other before nodding back at Crane-Man, and joining him. They sat together in the backseat while Crane-Man drove.

“Congresswoman Knope, I am informed you care deeply for the welfare of other human beings and have a desire to see justice done.”

“I uh. I stand for those things too.” said Ben. “And I would love to fight crime too. Or at the very least get a selfie with a real superhero.”

Crane-Man chuckled.

“Perhaps one day, aspiring adventurer! But tell me: Are you two both familiar with the restrictions set upon myself and my vigilante allies by the Keane act?”

“I’ve been in vocal opposition of it for a while, but it’s still strongly upheld. Especially here in New York. The vigilante population here is greater than in other places but the act is enforced enough to keep those masks struggling under a federal boot.”

“Congresswoman Knope—Leslie. I know my actions tonight are merely a small act of good, but the work of we vigilantes is important. You know this, and you also know that there is no certifiable voice for us in government. We simply cannot reveal ourselves like that in this detestable day and age in which democracy dies and tyranny runs rampant.”

“I see what you’re saying, Crane-Man. I should use my resources to oppose the Keane act!” said Leslie.

“Yeah, and she’ll have the full support of her department. Including me.”

“I am honored by your thirst for all that is righteous! Here. Take this special signal device: If you wish to speak with me personally or have some matter I should address on your behalf simply press the button to instantly summon me. Failing that I also possess a special telephone number and e-mail. Here is a business card featuring both, plus a super-secret mailing code that will allow me to intercept any packages you might have for me.”

“This is the coolest secret communication system I’ve ever seen. I want to pore over its intricacies.” said Ben.

“Mr. Knope, please refrain for now. Once I know you are successful and safe on your end perhaps we can come to some kind of arrangement on how I might repay you.”

“Oh, of course—” started Ben.

“I also meant Leslie.” said Crane-Man.

“It’s okay, my husband is a huge geek. This is like a childhood fantasy of his come true.”

Crane-Man smiled.

“Perhaps we can chat over it sometime, perhaps even pore over the psychology behind such a desire for justice then, Mr. Knope. And you, Congresswoman?”

“Maybe. But right now my battle is against the Keane act. And that’s going to take every ounce of enthusiasm I have for myself and my people. But knowing you’ve got our backs, we’ll give it 110%!”

“Yeah!... After a good night’s sleep of course.” said Ben.

“Good good! I believe your stop is coming up. I’ll just drop you off here at home and deposit your vehicle at the nearest garage before I return to my nightly patrol. Take care.”

Frasier was ecstatic! Not only did he befriend powerful new allies, but he did so as both himself and his masked persona. There was a spring in his step and less wind-up to delay his strikes as he battled a plethora of street criminals on the way home. When he finally arrived—and terribly late at that, the apartment was shrouded in darkness.

“Dr. Crane? Is that you?!”

Just then, Frasier hit the lights. He gasped: He was still in his Crane-Man suit. He’d gotten so used to moving unseen through the shadows he forgot to change back into his day-to-day clothes. And on top of that, Niles was here in his Le Bec costume with a rose between his teeth, and his hands holding Daphne’s. They were being bathed in the pale moonlight until Frasier showed up.

“Niles?! Daphne what—”

“Frasier! You fool!”

Daphne looked to the two men, before backing up.

“So wait just a bloody second! You two are Crane Man and the Beak?!”

“Daphne—please do not be mad at us. It was Frasier’s idea.” said Niles.

“AHA! I KNEW it!”

Martin was shuffling out of his bedroom, yanking the masks off of Frasier and Niles’s faces.

“You two ARE the birdbrained duo! I knew it! It didn’t add up that ya kept disappearing at crucial junctures, and the fact that you have that secret room.”

“How did you find the Crane cave?!” cried Frasier.

“Well see, Daphne was cleaning and then Eddie started barking. Naturally we thought it was because one of those weirdo fancy high art paintings ya normally bring home smelled funny—which it did.” said Martin, while Daphne nodded. “And the next thing we knew we found your suits left behind and the computer open on several files pertaining to crime in the city, major politics and Doctor Manhattan. Just what gives, you two?!”

Niles looked at Frasier: Though they still wore their costumes, without the masks they just felt like two men playing dress-up.

“It… It really was my idea, dad.” said Frasier. “I thought I’d try at doing some good for others beyond just my radio show. I roped Niles into it and nearly got us both killed on multiple occasions.”

But just then, Niles stood tall with determination.

“Dad. Daphne… I know it’s been odd lately. Frasier and I not being around quite as much. My attempt to… to woo you, Daphne, in my Le Bec persona. But… the foolhardy aspects of this project of ours. They are but small potatoes in the grander scheme. Earlier today I saved a bus from an armed gunman trying to steal organs for the black market with another vigilante. We got that organ to the hospital where it was sorely needed while also helping everyone else get home safely after the ordeal. And frankly, even if I had to do that all again—to throw my life on the line for others. Well. I would do it again like a streak of light that paints the morning glow with that thing called hope.”

Everyone was silent for a time.

“Well...” said Daphne. “But don’t feel ashamed of yourself Dr. Crane—Niles. I won’t lie: I should think being something like family to you all ye could have said something. And I would have gladly kept yer secret. But at least you’re not off doing anything wrong. In fact I was quite inspired by Niles’s actions earlier when I caught in on the news. As the telly told the tale, I couldn’t help but recall a story me Grammy Moon told me, passed down through generations of our own family were self-styled knights and robin hoods and things. Not quite your Justice Leagues or those overrated Avengers at the cinema, but to be out there taking action? It’s more than romantic. It’s inspiring.”

“Is it… romantic for us though?”

Daphne glared at Niles. But she softened just a little, reminding herself of all of his best qualities-- as embodied by Niles when he took the alias of Le Bec. Martin pulled both of his sons in and hugged them.

“Frasier. Niles. I just wanna say I’m proud of you both. I promised your mother I’d never let either of you two get into a rough and tough life, despite my best efforts to make you two a little more rugged. But you’re both smart, resourceful and kind of manly now. And I want you to know that I’m here for what you’re doing. Just be sure to ask me for help from time to time. Maybe not always for a fist fight or a chase but I was a cop once—a detective, before that bullet got me in the hip. That and I got tired of working with guys who liked bullyin’ the little people with all the authority they’ve got. You need help with a mystery or someone to buddy buddy with the police around here to dig up some confidential files? I’m your guy.”

“… You’re the best.”

Martin wasn’t sure who said that between Daphne, Niles and Frasier, he was just touched that someone did at all. But the next thing he knew they were all hugging each other. It was a fine moment for all of them until Frasier yelped.

“One of the blinds is open! Someone could be watching us with a telescope!”

And then everyone split off to close the blinds, Frasier and Niles covering their faces with their gloved hands to try and preserve their secret identities again.


	5. In which things suck, but the worst is yet to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We catch up with Frank as he discovers the government has a special wing of operations dedicated to vigilantism. Along with a quick look at Kramer's origins, and the next flight of the Crane-Man!

Frank-- still in his Trash Man costume woke up in a cold sweat. He looked around to see himself in a stark, stone blue colored room. There was a window, but Frank could only see his own reflection: A two-way mirror. Just like in all the police procedural dramas on TV at a most crucial juncture: Interrogations. But it wasn't a cop, nor even some prestigious detective that would be interrogating Frank. Instead it was a man in a suit.

"Howdy there, Trash Man." said the suited man.

"Scram, ya two-dollar fed. I ain't tellin' ya nothin'!" spat Frank. "Yer better off trying to tuck your knees under your butt than figurin' anything out!"

The suited man paused to imagine that, before shaking his head.

"Trash Man, I'm Special Agent Michael Scott and it's my bureau-- everyone back at 'The Office' that prevents the police from unmasking you publicly and having you face greater charges."

"... Oh. Well shit."

"Yeah, that's right. And if you wanna stay secret and not penniless or beaten-- or what have you, you'll comply with my investigation."

"Ehh. I can't make any promises but I'll try. Just don't make me wear a wire or else the guys who give me my drugs'll knock the tar outta me."

"What-- no, Trash Man. We want to know about your friends in the Gallant Gang, and any other costumed adventurers you might be associating with."

Frank had to take a moment. Agent Scott waited for a response.

"Yeah alright. Who do ya want me to sell out?"

Agent Scott blinked. Trash Man had just readily abandoned his team. But not that Agent Scott was complaining: This was perfect! Finally, things were going easy for a change.

"Terrific, Trash Man. We'll just need any information you can give us on Ostrichette, Lapdog, Holy Hairdresser..."

"Absolutely!..." said Trash Man

"... And Green Man."

Just as Agent Scott mentioned the last vigilante, the Trash Man started trying to break his chains and cuffs to attack him.

"You stay the hell away from him! The Rat King Detective is my buddy and I'll never sell him out! Maybe also Holy Hamguy but otherwise I will readily sell ANYBODY else out if you don't hurt my buddy!"

"Trash Man, are you aware of what Green Man has done? He's an awful 'detective,' he's beaten numerous people down with his 'rat bat' and--"

"And it's only the coolest thing you never saw, ya pantywaist! I'll kill you!"

Agent Scott sighed, and leaned forward, Frank's arms reaching but not quite laying hands on Agent Scott, who put his hands together devilishly. 

"You disappoint me, Trash Man. I guess you belong in the trash CAN. Even though you trash CANNOT help me!... or trash WILL NOT... ugh." said Agent Scott, as Frank just glared at him. "... Okay, nevermind. Anyways I'm gonna have you carted off to a nice new cell for you to call home."

"Prison ain't nothin' new to me, chump! I'll get out!"

"Oh, this isn't just any prison mister Trash Man. This is a super-max security facility we're putting together extra special for spandex wearing losers who display... above average talent." said Agent Scott, as two security guards came through to escort Frank out.

"If you hurt Green Man, I'll make you pay!" cried Trash Man. 

"Oh yeah, sure. I'LL pay. But you? You're looking at a life sentence in... the _Full House_."

X

Kramer had just completed another night of vigilante work. This stuff was the best to him! He was able to help so many people, and there were other vigilantes out there. It made those sad, sad nights go by just a little bit better. He crept back into the apartment quietly, before taking off his welding mask and toolbelt of crimefighting gear. Jerry's apartment was all he had left, but it haunted him so terribly since Jerry and Elaine disappeared. And there was still something more to come.

"Kramer?... Kramer, izzat you?"

"I'm here, George."

George Costanza was holed up in one of the bedrooms. He was a friend of Kramer, Jerry and Elaine. He was beneath the blanket, hiding from the world. Beside the bed on the nightstand was a photo of the four friends together: George was the shortest. A balding man with glasses, who in the photo was currently yelling about something.

"Can you get me a pepsi, Kramer?"

"Sure thing, George. Anything for you."

Kramer turned to grab the soda from the kitchen. Prefaced by a miserable moaning and groaning, George spoke:

"I was draped in the blanket earlier and tried to grab the mail... stupid mailman left it on the rug. And seeing as ya know I couldn't go outside like this I asked Newman-- cause as it turns out he moved down the hall from Jerry's place-- now ours, to grab the mail for me and slide it through the slot. I got the door open a crack and I go 'hey Newman, help a guy out and pick up my mail for me why don'tcha?' but he gets all snippy and tells me he doesn't wanna..."

"Y-Yeah, that's Newman alright. It's why I don't live with him anymore, he's insufferable." Kramer nervously laughed. But George turned to him.

"... But it got worse, Kramer." continued George. "Newman can't mind his own business, so he comes over and takes the blanket off of my head to look at me. He's asked before and I said no, but he just HAS to go and do this thing. Walkin' all the way over, coulda just gave me my mail! Y'know we are living, in a SOCIETY! There's a certain way we have to act, how we oughtta treat our fellow human beings here!"

"George. George, drink your pepsi, man!"

"And y'know what I told Newman?! Before he ran away and told everybody what was happenin' to me?! 

And then George removed the blanket, glaring daggers at Kramer. He looked exactly as he did in the photo, except his entire body had turned purple.

" _ **I'M AN EGGPLANT!**_" cried George. "A _**MUTANT!**_ AND IT'S THAT STUPID SPACE SQUID'S FAULT! WITH ITS FANCY SCHMANCY SCIENCE WAVES OF... OF RADIATION PROBABLY! AND WHO KNOWS WHAT ELSE I GOT BESIDES BEING TURNED INTO A FREAK?! WHAT TOTALITY OF ILLNESSES I'VE BEEN  **AFFLICTED** WITH?!"

George sobbed, Kramer allowing his mutant friend to cry into his arms, before offering the other man his pepsi.

"I'll... I'll get some ice for that, George."

"Nah, no. Couldja just get the blinds? I wanna watch some TV."

"Sure George. Anything you want."

Kramer and George took to the sofa after Kramer got the blinds closed so no one could see George through the window. But some people knew he lived there. Stewed there. Suffered there. And Kramer was his only connection left to the outside world after another giant alien squid attack occurred and George was at ground zero with a few others. Kramer and Jerry had rushed George onto an ambulance, but the driver and his partner were arguing over who ate the last 'chuckles'-- a fruit-flavored chewy candy. And despite Jerry's offers of buying the ambulance guy a new pack of chuckles, the driver pulled over and knocked his partner out cold after an alleyway fist fight, leaving the other EMT to lay in the trash. And then in his anger-- despite Kramer's pleas to drive the ambulance for them while they figured out their problem, the vehicle crashed.

Kramer and George survived. As did Jerry, but afterwards he disappeared. Their friend Elaine followed shortly after, though she specified it was for vacationing purposes. She'd never called them back though, which concerned them. But then concern turned to hopelessness: George could never find a cure to what happened to him. And Kramer, Kramer lived with the guilt of not having done enough for his friends.

X

Frasier peered out of his BMW window and around at Philadelphia. The drive here did not take long thanks to the modifications on his vehicle, and gratuitous double-checking of the GPS system beforehand with his family. Niles would remain in New York to keep an eye on things there while Frasier-- as Crane-Man, would look into another matter: The Gallant Gang.

There was still a great deal of uncertainty in Frasier's heart as to what he ultimately wanted to do. The Gang's approach to crimefighting wasn't just unorthodox: They were killing people without so much as a second thought, and the survivors were often subjected to the gang's strange whims. As he made his way through the city and towards a quieter section-- home to Paddy's Pub, he donned his cowl. He didn't want to fight, but he wasn't going to outright just give himself over as a friend to these violent, vile vandals.

"Hey jerk, I'm tryna drink here."

"Oh. Me too. Is there a bartender or a waitress I could speak with?"

Just then, the woman who had spoken crudely to Frasier stumbled around the counter, putting a couple of bottles up and leaning on the counter in a very sloppy, pseudo-seductive fashion.

"The name's Dee, sweetheart."

Frasier was at odds with himself. He was one to go on a lot of dates in the hopes of finding some love-- and if it were short, he would try to make things as steamy and passionate as possible before it ended. He was like every cheap paperback romance novel hero... 's antithesis, what with his balding head and weak knees-- weak spirit, when it came to the subject of romance with any sort of person he fancied.

"Yes... Well. I'll just have a moderately sized stein of your finest beer, please."

"That it? You shoulda come here to party. Paddy's pub is for people who like to party. Me included, I am so totally the party type. Lots of fun."

"Yes, well. I prefer to save the partying until after I've determined I won't be mugged or some such."

"Yeah yeah, that's fair. So uh, how's the whole crimefighting thing, Crane-Man? Aren't you a New Yorker?"

"It goes, but as it happens I'm here in Philadelphia on business. I was told the 'Gallant Gang' sometimes congregate at your establishment, Miss Dee."

The woman let off a garbled snort that was not elegant in the slightest. It caught Frasier off-guard and almost made him choke on his beer. Although as it was the beak of his mask poked into the glass beer stein a couple of times, puncturing it. So when he set it back down it erupted.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Allow me to just..." said Frasier, taking a handkerchief from his utility belt to try and clean up the mess.

"No here. Let me.... Oh. Look, our hands are almost touching."

By almost touching Dee meant she had grabbed Frasier's gloved fist and squeezed it rather tightly, as if forcing him to clean up the mess.

"Ergh, yes! There we have it!" grunted Frasier, regretting the fact he almost wanted to play into Dee's flirtations. He was a pitiful, lonesome man and now he was going to suffer.

"Perhaps I really should be going, Dee."

"No, what?! Those assholes leave the bar to me alone for once and I am not passing up a moment like out of my favorite cheap romance paperbacks. You and me, we're going places! I'm a bird too, you know!" exclaimed Dee, putting on her Ostrichette mask. Frasier's jaw dropped, and he managed to move the rag out from under his hand, soak his glove in the beer and slip out of her grasp so he could jump out of his seat. He hurried for the door to escape, but quickly found Ostrichette's accomplices: The Holy Harbinger and the Laconian.

"I'm tellin' you, Dennis! We should get like a motorcycle and sidecar but I gotta be driving!"

"Mac, you don't have a motorcycle license. And I for one refuse to sit in a sidecar getting bugs in my teeth and-- hello!"

Frasier backed up a couple of steps as Ostrichette was behind him, and the two men were in front of him.

"You guys, he knows! He knows my secret identity! He can't leave! He's gotta join the team maybe, and like. Be my love interest! Like Wonder Woman and Chris Pine!"

"Ostrichette, shut up. You're not really Dee." spat the Laconian. "Crane-Man look, that was just a... a Mission Impossible style rubber mask disguise she wears to protect herself. The staff here at Paddy's are our allies and they let us... borrow their secret identities! And uh, Ostrichette was probably also drinking a considerable bit so she's given you the wrong idea! We don't haphazardly harm people because we get a twisted sense of enjoyment from it. We do it because we have to! It's a harsh world out there Crane-Man. You know this, you fight against it! Well so do we!"

"..." Frasier took it all in, before pointing a finger. "Wait. I recognize that voice. Didn't you call in on the Dr. Frasier Crane Show to brag about some sort of... system? For picking up women?"

"What? Oh, you mean the owner of Paddy's Pub! Yeah, Dennis Reynolds. Inventor of the D.E.N.N.I.S. system. Great guy." said Laconian. 

"Yes I remember it now." said Crane-Man. Frasier remembered how Dennis bragged about manipulating people to do his bidding through some bizarre procedure outlined with his own name as a very, very stupid acronym. 

"Great. So you use it too or?..."

Frasier-- Crane-Man that is, scoffed. He gave a little flourish of his cape and set his fists at his sides, puffing out his chest triumphantly.

"I, Crane-Man recognize you and this Dennis for what you both are: And that is, a pair of CREEPS. And I would be happy to analyze this further over a proper psychiatric appointment at a discounted rate."

Dennis sneered. From behind the mask of the Laconian came a 'tsk, tsk, tsk.'

"Oh Crane-Man, you stubborn fool. I thought you were someone who might understand the intricacies of the mind."

"I do, and I question what goes on in yours."

"... I'm gonna postpone processing the fact you said that to continue talking." said Laconian. "Maybe justice must be a gang! A-A syndicate even! Maybe to beat the bad guys, we gotta go even lower than they've gone."

"We mustn't!" cried Frasier. "Perhaps we might show them no quarter and fight hard, but I refuse to simply rebuild the same corrupt system they built, even if it exclusively benefits me!"

"Okay, just processed that plus what you said a moment ago, and I gotta say..." said Laconian, producing one of his throwing darts. "I am not jazzed about this, Crane-Man."

Frasier's eyes widened. Just as Dennis threw one of his darts, he shut his eyes and forced a hand out. When he opened his eyes, he found that his glove had been durable enough to protect him from a common barroom throwing dart. But it was most miraculous however, that Frasier even managed to time and lash out at the  flight path of the projectile. 

"I think we're screwed, De-- Laconian." said Mac, backing up just a bit. His karate stance was weaker and sadder now, unwilling to face the New York based vigilante. Dennis raised a finger, mouth agape as he tried to think of something cool to say:

"... You're a bird! Dee's a bird! Screw this!" roared Dennis.

"You've just given me an idea, Laconian." 

Frasier grabbed Dennis. Although Frasier was still into his exercises to improve his physical abilities, he was still more nourished and something of a larger man compared to the malnourished, pathetic form of Dennis. He dragged Dennis into the filth of the men's bathrooms there at that miserable bar, and held him above the toilet by the ankles with both hands.

"No... No don't you DARE corkscrew swirly me, Crane-Man! I am a GOD. A GOLDEN. GOD!! I will have my revenge upon you if you do this! There is no crack or crevice you can hide in! No nest I will not topple and burn the remains of!"

"Oh, put a sock in it you overgrown middle schooler!"

And Frasier raised one leg to man the toilet handle. Dennis screamed as Frasier turned him very slowly, his head spinning like the Earth slowly did, except if the Earth was being flooded with nasty liquids. Afterwards, Frasier let him fall to the floor to writhe in agony, while stepping out of the bathroom. Frasier grinned as though he'd gotten his own revenge on a childhood bully from his schooldays. But there was a bittersweet taste as he saw the horror on the Holy Harbinger's face.

"What, you want some too?!" exclaimed Frasier, not realizing the darkness, and the rage of a beast that had overtaken him.

"Well I kinda peered in and saw what you did to the Laconian, soooo..." said Mac, doing some really poor karate moves to keep himself from crying out in fear. "I'm gonna run away."

As Mac ran out of the building, Frasier turned to see Ostrichette leaning in, trying to kiss him. But he recoiled.

"And you, Ostrichette?"

"Think of me as your Catwoman, Crane-Man. I'll be rooting for you... I only hope you'll come back to really give it to these chumps later. I'm talking like, a total beatdown... and then we can make like two birds in a belfry? In heat?"

"Bats. Bats in the belfry, is how it goes. And you have bats in YOUR belfry, miss Ostrichette."

Dee purred despite the insult, and Frasier shoved her away to go start his BMW and escape. Dennis was stumbling out of the bathroom, reaching behind the bar counter and producing his rocket launcher: A gift from Mac a prior Valentines day. Dee of course wanted to argue, but Dennis was heavily armed, a little bit pissed off, and-- you see where I'm going with this?

"HEY BIRDBRAIN!"

Frasier perked up and screamed at the sight of the rocket launcher. He kicked the car into high gear before speeding off into the night. Dennis's rocket launcher fired, but the round zipped past where Frasier's car once was and hit a distant building.

"Damn!" bellowed Dennis. That was his last round on the rocket launcher, and buying more was so terribly expensive, moreso with Frank in the hands of law enforcement. He hurried back inside to take off his costume so that he could feign innocence in the event anyone came snooping around.

"... So uh. what now?" asked Dee. 

"What now? WHAT NOW?!" barked Dennis. "We're saving Frank. We need more weapons. More everything! We're not heroes anymore. We're evil. Or... chaotic neutral. That's way easier. We'll be good when we're on camera but anything goes when we're out of the limelight. And would you take that stupid mask off, Dee? The cops might come by and ask questions! And while you're at it, could you go find Mac and tell him it's all clear? Maybe figure out where the hell Charlie is?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things have been busy and I haven't had much of a chance to write fiction but here's all the shocking developments of chapter 5. The seeds of discontent are being sown and wild things are to come, babey!!


	6. Conflict A Go-Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frasier seeks allies for a secret purpose, and Roz tags along. Danger is not far off either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it's been a while.
> 
> Let's go. 
> 
> 3\. 2. 1.

Roz Doyle sat at the airport bar running her finger around the rim of her drink: An ice cold cola. Frasier had insisted she remain sober, as Bojack Horseman was still on the loose. She always did wonder where those animal people came from. They'd always been around, but it just felt like she'd never noticed them until now. Did Doctor Manhattan's space-time physics nonsense conjure them into existence? Maybe they were inhabitants of a parallel universe that Manhattan saw fit to merge with the one Roz lived in. She briefly considered the possibility that they were part of some really dark, gruesome biological experiment and the aforementioned possibilities were the cover stories drilled into their heads.

But that was an incredibly stupid notion. Things are not always secretly immensely terrible. Maybe they end up being a bit of an inconvenience and a small disappointment at worst, but the truth was stranger than fiction. Including such fiction, as written by some old British guys in the 1980s who came overseas to 'revolutionize' the American superhero comics scene by by injecting drugs, sex and violence into the stories to show some secret reality, that characters who embody our best traits are actually the worst of all of us. And then in the decade immediately following, into the 1990's, someone goes on to take those stories, remove any semblance of plot so it's only the drugs, sex and violence now featuring horrid anatomy on the artwork and a middle schooler's opinion of what passes for 'cool' yet 'deep' storytelling and characters.

But this fic is 'Botchmen,' a Watchmen parody. Maybe we'll parody Alan Moore's Miracleman and the collective work of Rob Liefeld later.

Anyways, as Roz was relaxing with her soft drink, two other women joined her: Both dressed as high power businesswomen. One was a little shorter, with dark brown hair and glasses. She was accompanied by a taller, light skinned black woman with curly hair. The taller of the two actually seemed to be younger-- and the older one in a mentoring capacity. And Roz couldn't help but try to join in. Not only because she was bored and sick of waiting for Frasier, but because she had something to add:

"Y'know, if you two are new to New York I know a great Italian place."

"Oh, thank you! Actually I'm a New Yorker, I've just been overseas for a while. But things have probably changed. Here, my name's Elaine Benes, this is my young ward, Hilary Banks."

"Charmed." said Hilary, before looking to her phone. "Oh, we need to finalize some arrangements, Ms. Benes."

"Here, I'll call them now and go over it." said Elaine.

"I'll handle it." said Hilary. "Here, why don't I let you two get to know each other? I was planning on stopping by one or two stores before we head into the city."

"Enjoy yourself, darling. Wire a few bucks into my account, won't you?" said Elaine, waving goodbye to Hilary. "Ah, I met her while we were both in Greece. We were both seeking out the exact same field of study! She's almost like the daughter... Well. Little sister I never had. I'm not that old."

"I think I get where you're coming from." said Roz. "My boss is picking someone up and I had to get away from this creep at work. Lately it's felt like he's the only one willing to give me the time of day and it's beyond sad."

"... Say Roz, would you like to come along with me to that Italian restaurant you mentioned? I don't think Hilary will be joining us but if it's alright with you."

"If she'll be alright on her own, then let's catch a cab."

As Roz and Elaine set off on their date, Frasier was still waiting on his mystery contact. But then suddenly, a football soared through the air and knocked a security guard unconscious.

"THIS STINKS! THIS IS TOTAL BS!"

"Bulldog Briscoe?..."

Frasier recognized the shorter balding man. He was decked out in protective sports gear with reinforced plastics from off the black market. He was currently beating down some security guards with his fists and a hockey stick. Worst of all was the fact that he had henchmen. Actual henchmen!

"Good god!" thought Frasier. "I must find a spot to change into Crane-Man so I can try and talk him and his goons down. Or punch their lights out. Come to think of it I do resent Bulldog for a lot of things..."

Just then, Frasier spotted Will Smith moving through the crowd with his things in tow, trying to find a spot to change as well. But Frasier spotted one of Bulldog's goons about to get in his way and moved to save Will. He shoved his way through people and caught Will by the arm to stop him.

"Don't go. They're covering every exit and potential hiding spot. They'll have you eating soccer balls before you know it."

"Dr. Frasier Crane? Man I heard you on the phone but I didn't believe it!" exclaimed Will, before entering a whisper when Frasier shushed him.

"The Bulldog knows me. I'm one of his co-workers."

"Y'all two are like friends then, right? You shouldn't be hiding, you should be talking him down!"

"The Bulldog knows me, I'm one of his enemies." said Frasier, rephrasing what he said to make more sense. "He cannot know I'm here, we've traded barbs for years and nearly gotten each other fired once or twice. I can't talk to him like this, but we can't get away to change."

"Ch-- what?"

"I called you here Mr. Smith, because I know of your Nom de Guerre. A certain member of... Bel-Air royalty?"

Will's eyes widened at Frasier revealing his knowledge. By extension Will had determined he was the Crane Man of New York. When the two men heard a baseball hit someone upside the head, eliciting a scream they looked back to each other.

"This isn't over." said Will, referring to his secret identity. "But we can't just sit by and do nothin', Dr. Crane."

"I understand your feelings, my young confederate in combating crime. But we must be patient and wait for our opportunity to strike."

Will glanced past Frasier and thought he saw his cousin Hilary. But as soon as he blinked, she was gone. He almost brought it up with Dr. Crane, but they still had to focus on the issue at hand. They tried to resume finding a way to change into their alter egos, eventually managing to do so after the presence of the guards began to diminish for some reason. But they just couldn't place why. Thankfully Bulldog Briscoe hadn't caught on, as the former sports radio star was too busy catcalling women in the airport area.

"Hey toots. They say Sam Malone over in Boston-- that he's the homerun king? I'm like the homerun emperor." said Bulldog, to the visibly disgusted woman. "Which is to say I'm good at baseball too."

"Uh, sir." a goon tried to chime in.

"Pipe down, underling. I don't need a shortstop who can't oil his catcher's mitt, telling me how to make my way to home plate safely!"

"Sir. The rest of our boys are gone."

"WHAT?! THIS STINKS! THIS IS TOTAL BS! I--" Bulldog began to utter his famous roar of indignation known to listeners across the nation. That is until he calmed down. "--Didja check the bathroom? I said they could take bathroom breaks whenever. Mighta had too many beers on the way."

"Oh, that's actually a good point sir. I'll go check now."

The last goon made their way to the bathroom entrance, only to be punched onto the floor, laying on his back by Crane-Man and the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

"Hey hey what gives?! My boys were possibly tryna go to the bathroom!" cried Bulldog Briscoe.

"The only leak you've got Bulldog, is in your metaphorical beer keg... and your henchmen were the beer." said Crane-Man, looking over at the Fresh Prince. But the Fresh Prince could only shake his head. Crane-Man needed to work on his witty dialogue.

"Alright, Briscoe. Your time's up." said Will.

"Don't CALL me that! I'm just THE BULLDOG now!" bellowed Bulldog Briscoe.

"It ain't gonna matter what they call ya. Because tonight's play is me dropkicking your ass."

Bulldog fired his snubnosed revolver wildly. Crane-Man got in the way, using someone's heavy luggage as a shield. The Fresh Prince was bouncing towards Bulldog, performing a flip. Then he sprung off a table and dropkicked Bulldog as promised. Bulldog fell onto his back, struggling to move much like a turtle.

"Okay, well. Damn." said Bulldog. "But I guess there's one game you bozos didn't count on."

"And what's that, Bulldog?!" bellowed Crane-Man

"Marbles."

Bulldog had suddenly thrown a mess of marbles and jacks onto the floor. But Fresh Prince was already on the ground near Bulldog in a crouch and Crane-Man was stepping carefully over the marbles and jacks. The only casualties were a few bystanders who either slipped on the marbles or stepped on the jacks and hurt their feet.

"Any last words, you brutish brigand?" said Frasier.

But before Bulldog could speak, a strange pair of people came crashing through the sturdy windows: They were wearing jumpsuits with strangely fitted exo-skeletons. Their facial features were frozen in smiles and grins at the moment. One was a woman, the other a man. Both were bland.

"What is this-- who are you?!"

"I am F.R.I.E.N.D.S.-1, but you may call me 'Chandler,' buddy." said the man called Chandler in a monotone voice. "Our acronym stands for F.EDERAL R.ESPONSE I.N E.MERGENCY N.ATIONAL D.EFENSE S.UB-UNIT! But we prefer the pronunciation 'FRIENDS,' as it is FRIENDLIER and more marketable."

"And I am F.R.I.E.N.D.S.-2, but you may call me 'Rachel,' pal." said the woman called Rachel in an equally monotone voice. "All costumed adventurers have been declared OUTLAWS regardless of personal moral standing. We do not wish to harm you. Please come quietly: You will be detained in our SUPERMAX SECURITY FACILITY in NEW JERSEY until your trials can be arranged. Resist and we will become combat active.

"We'll never surrender!" cried Crane-Man. He hopped up to perform a flying kick against Chandler. But Chandler raised his arm and swatted Crane-Man aside. His cybernetic cyborg parts had augmented his out of shape human parts to a level of strength just above Crane-Man and the Fresh Prince's. Speaking of which, the Fresh Prince produced a pair of nunchaku from his belt and began to swing them around, letting off a kiai yell. His strikes managed to keep Rachel and Chandler away but he couldn't keep it up forever.

Just then, a smoke grenade went off near the F.R.I.E.N.D.S.: And then a costumed woman in an outfit not unlike the Fresh Prince's waded through the smoke to help Crane-Man up,

But beneath the mask, Will knew who this was. He mouthed her name before the smoke obscured him. He moved forward in an attempt to reach his allies and helped Crane-Man up, But once Crane-Man got to his feet, he was moving back towards the F.R.I.E.N.D.S.!  
  
"Ey Crane-Man what are you doin'?! We gotta get outta here like yesterday!" said Fresh Prince. But Crane-Man shook his head.

"They'll follow us. Here: Take this card. My sidekick Le Bec is in town, as are the vigilante friends he's made lately. You can trust him with your secret identities... Find out about the facility in New Jersey and be ready to storm it!"

"But wait! how did you know I was the Fresh Prince?"

Crane-Man just smiled. Hilary was trying to pull Will away. But even she wanted to know what connection Crane-Man had to the family she shared with Will.

"I knew Phillip Banks once, son. And I knew how he left you in his will in such an extraordinary way... how you and your cousins were the best of friends now interacting no more. The vigilante who tried to help with his heart before his fists much like your uncle once did. I deduced the rift between you all based on the information I had dug up by a friend in Congress. She will help you too, but I dare not reveal her name here. If we meet again, we will work together again. We and all our allies. For this attack is what I have always feared: Those of us masks not aligned with the government or sworn to evil must form '... a more perfect union,' as it were. A society for good! Take the dream with you now, you two! Go!"

Fresh Prince took Crane-Man's gloved fist into his own, before performing a secret handshake. Crane-Man wasn't sure how to perform the gesture-- he wasn't always 'hip with da kids,' but right now Will needed it, so he awkwardly let Will slap and grab his hand in several ways. And then they were off. Crane-Man turned to face the F.R.I.E.N.D.S. as the smoke cleared, producing a pair of knives whose hilts resembled Cranes, and the blades their beaks. But before the smoke cleared up completely, a shadowy form approached the cyborgs from behind. Frasier wasn't certain whether it was friend or foe. But he let off a warlike 'CRA-CAW!' and leaped into battle.

"CRA-CAW! YOUR EVIL DOES NOT GO UNHEARD! I. AM. **LISTENING!!** _AAAAUUUUUGH!!!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For quite a while, I had an idea as to what I wanted to do with the story. My problem was that I wanted to drag certain elements on. That I had to think more carefully about this. Not that I don't try to plan a bit with each chapter, but this series began as a silly thing I wanted to write, based on the joke of Frasier and Niles being vigilantes in the Watchmen universe.
> 
> So I'm going to tell the rest of this tale and see where I can take us. I hope you all enjoy the continuing saga of... Botchmen.


	7. The League of Decent Conversational Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heroes have taken their hits. But they can't stop now. Also the HBO Watchmen TV series is way too full of itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the key thing is that I'm having fun writing this. It's certainly what kept me going on Chapter 6.
> 
> For those who've actually read Chapter 6: No, those characters aren't superpowered. Watchmen had high tech sci-fi gadgets, so I don't think this is too out of left field. 
> 
> Not that it matters, I think as we go on it'll only get more hammy from here, ESPECIALLY with abilities. Hope y'all like cooked ham!

"Agent Scott."

Congresswoman Leslie Knope was in her office as Agent Michael Scott entered. The rest of Leslie's staff were hard pressed to keep up with assignments.

"Congresswoman Knope! Glad to finally get in touch. And hey: I am so sorry about those recent losses on your staff: But rest assured, "The Office" will see to it Mr. Dwyer and Mr. Haverford face the full and fair process of the law."

"Spare me, Mike. You don't come down to other people's departments without a reason beyond just friendly little condolences."

"Weeeell." said Agent Scott. "Yeah, you'd be right. I also came to say something else: You should lay off of the Keane Act."

"The Keene Act or the latter day amended version we spell with an 'a' instead of the second 'e'?"

"The latter, naturally. The original lacks those pesky current day provisions, like how now costumed adventurers possessing secret identities will have their privacy protected under the law until they have been given a trial. Did you know the added 'a' was to remind everyone it was amended at all? We all just kept forgetting!"

"Thanks for the lesson. Anyways, I'm gonna have to stop you right there because I'm not going to stop until the Keane act is replaced with a more forward thinking piece of legislation. The Keane act-- no matter how its revisions, is flawed. It has goons like you hunting down noble people."

 "Leslie, that is the stupidest thing you could say to me. I'm a goon? The Office, is a bunch of GOONS?"

"No, I could say worse! Like... er." Leslie paused, while Agent Scott watched on with curiosity. "... cereal is a SOUP!"

Agent Scott was about to scoff and laugh. That is, until he actually gave the idea some thought. But he very quickly shook his head and started wagging a finger.

"We'll find a way to trample all over your rights, and the rights of everyone you're trying to aid, Congresswoman Knope."

"Yeah, sure you will. Go play junior G-Man elsewhere. We don't need any spy-murderer guys here."

Agent Scott scowled.

"Just remember what happened to Tom Haverford and Andy Dwyer: The Master of None and Johnny Karate weren't as smart as they thought. Especially with that whole 'Burt Macklin, FBI' disguise Dwyer had going on. He did NOT fool us."

But he did fool them, and even though everyone grew to hate Dwyer and Haverford, they were responsible for making much of The Office's secret database public. As Agent Scott left the room, Leslie was blowing raspberries at him. But as he exited, two men by the entrance into the building were walking away: One was a suited man playing with what looked like a butterfly knife, except in place of the blade was a comb. He used it to fix what remained of his hair, as he was balding. And he had odd glasses. The other figure was wearing a long trenchcoat with the collar popped up. But it was apparent his face was covered with some kind of gold.

"Scarn, what's our status?" said the suited man, putting the butterfly comb away.

"We're going to wait this out, Sharpschruter. Have our boys back at 'The Office' do everything they can to have the court case lean in our favor. After that, we'll start cleaning house on some of our inmates back at... The Full House."

X

Will and Hilary had taken the morning to get caught up: Hilary knew of Will's exploits from the news, and he opened up about various capers. Of his struggle to reconnect with Carlton.

"Oh Will. I'm so sorry. Look, when all this is over and we head back to Bel-Air let's go talk to Carlton together, alright? Ashley and Nicky haven't seen either of us in years"

But Will was silent.

"Yeah, I dunno about that. He respects the Fresh Prince, but I'm the one that stopped him from going overboard with getting justice for me. I mean... Alright, I'll think about it. But where have you been, Hilary?"

"Greece. I've been training with a secret cult of warrior women. I met this lady named Elaine, she was like... the best among them. So she took me under her wing and helped me learn how to fight almost as good as she did. In exchange I paid her. Like, a LOT of money. "

"Damn. Any other warrior women flyin' out this way?"

Hilary and Will were genuinely laughing for the first time in a while. Hilary jokingly jabbed Will in the arm, before the two continued towards the building where Frasier's apartment was located. When they entered, not only did the place feature Niles,  Martin and Daphne-- but also present were Roz Doyle and longtime resident New Yorker, Cosmo Kramer. 

"You two made it. Are you alright?" said Niles. He speed-walked to the door with a great vigor he'd acquired recently from all his vigilante work.

"Yeah, of course. I'm Will Smith, this is my cousin Hilary Banks." said Will, shaking Niles's hand. "You're Frasier's brother?"

"That's right. I'm Dr. Niles Crane. On the chair there is my father Martin. And my darling dear there is Daphne Moon, also my father's home healthcare provider."

"That means she tortures me with all sorts of horrible stretching and exercises." said Martin.

"Oi, enough of that Marty." said Daphne. "You two need any coffee? Kramer, get us some coffee will ye?"

"Sure thing, Daph." said Kramer, hopping into the kitchen and returning with two mugs. He set a bunch of sugar and little creamer packs on the dining table. "Good thing I stopped by Monk's diner and stocked up."

"Thank you, Kramer." said Will, before looking at Niles to make sure everyone here was in the loop. Niles merely nodded, though he looked funny at Roz.

"Oh stop it, Niles." groaned Roz. "Elaine told me all about the amazon island with the swords and everything. Also how Hilary there is the Fresh Princess."

"And you HAVEN'T told anyone?" said Hilary. 

"Of course not. I didn't tell anyone Frasier was Crane-Man."

"What-- how did you know that?!" said Niles.

"I saw his car change license plates at the last second before he left the station. Otherwise he's kept his secret up pretty well."

"Oh jeez, I'd better invest in something like that..." muttered Kramer. If he was going to use his car during vigilante work he'd have to get a plate-changing gizmo, otherwise everyone would question why a sedan with a plate labeled "ASSMAN" was fleeing the scene. Many inhabitants of the city knew Kramer (and one Dr. Assman at the hospital) by that plate and could make the connection.

"Look, can we just get on track here?" said Will. "Frasier forced me and Hilary to escape before those bionic bums attacked. On top of all that, he said he knew my uncle-- Hilary's father."

Just then, Niles turned back to look at his father. Martin had to take a moment to recollect, but he gestured for Will and Hilary to come closer.

"Back in the day before I took a bullet to the hip, I was a big time detective. Took my family out to California for a trip. That was when the local precinct in Bel-Air asked for my help with a new case. We'd been working it for a while when the perp came after me and the other cops on the case. We got attacked while we were tryin to have a BBQ-- I hadn't told my family much about the case because I didn't want them to be scared. The guy did some serious damage and terrified everyone, but he had a great lawyer. He was gonna walk free. But Phillip Banks helped me dig up the dirt we needed to put this guy away for good. I'd never met a braver fella than Phil."

"I remember Frasier spent some time with him. Called him the man who saved our father. Next to dad, Phillip Banks helped inspire Frasier's own moral compass. And he's done the same for you, it seems!"

Will and Hilary looked at each other. They couldn't help but smile at the thought: That their uncle was indeed a good man. That Frasier was almost assuredly their benefactor. 

"I'm glad you guys have had your reunion, but what about me?" said Kramer. "Me and George still haven't seen Elaine! We're hoping she knows something about Jerry."

"She said she had to prepare." said Roz. "Then she kissed me goodbye, shoved me out the door and started singing loudly in the shower."

"Oh, I think that means you two had a good date." said Kramer with a knowing nod. "Really hit it off, eh?"

"... Really?" said Roz, blushing just a little at the thought. "Well, anyways I'll try to get back in touch with her. For you guys I mean, not just for the next date."

Kramer nodded. 

"Here, give me a second. Sorry Will, Hilary. I brought George, he's in Martin's bedroom. He's been feeling especially ill lately. He survived one of those giant alien squid attacks back in the day."

Niles and Daphne sat down on the sofa beside Will and Hilary.

"We're going to pool all of our efforts into saving Frasier and anyone else in that New Jersey prison facility. As many of us as we can gather. However, Frasier warned us of that group from Philadelphia: The Gallant Gang. We're not sure if we can trust them, but if there's anyone who can possibly help us..."

"We'll scout around." said Hilary. "Your dad used to be a police detective, right? Can he dig up any info on vigilantes or the prison complex?"

"Say no more." said Martin, standing up. "Me and my dog Eddie are on the case. You kids just keep fighting the good fight. This city needs you."

"And I'll help too." said Daphne. "I've been doing some training of my own. Haven't got me own costume yet, but I won't be far off if ye need backup and a getaway driver."

"Thank you, Daphne. You're an angel."

"No... Not an angel. When I get a mask and we've got our little legion together, call me Crescent."

X

**"Everywhere you look~! (Everywhere you look~!),**

**There's a GUARD! (There's a GUARD!),**

**His weapon trained on you~!"**

Frasier was in a haze as he was dragged through the Full House. And it was true: The place had many guards, and many containment measures that seemed excessive for use even against normal human beings who had become incredibly athletic all at once. It was hard to see around him, as he bumped into a shorter costumed figure who was swearing like a sailor. And then again into a taller one sporting a thick black mane, and raging against the powerful bonds that restrained his hulking, animal strength.

"RELEASE ME!" bellowed the beast, tackling into a couple of guards. Just then, an unassuming man with an eyepatch barked out an order:

"Get Joey, or Monica-- whoever we can out here. We need a F.R.I.E.N.D. about now."

"Yessir, Warden Tanner."

Just then, another F.R.I.E.N.D. appeared. It seemed to require more battery intake and was currently digging into a bowl of baby food, the only foodstuffs his cybernetically augmented body could safely process. And efficiently so: It was a nearly liquidy mush that could be processed fast. Just like in Robocop (1987).

"Hold up there, bud. The name is F.R.I.E.N.D.S.-3, but my friends call me "Joey." Prepare to meet your doom!"

F.R.I.E.N.D. Joey gently set the bowl of baby food and extra battery packs aside to wrestle with the beast.

"Ugh! If only your fight skills were as stilted as your presentation..." groaned the beast-- Bojack Horseman. But Bojack was still exhausted from when he'd appeared during the battle against Rachel and Chandler: He'd originally followed Will in the hopes of talking to him and clearing his head after the whole ordeal at Universal Studios, California. But after a lengthy flight trapped in the baggage compartment, he stumbled out to see some buffoon in a silk costume and mask fighting cyborgs. So promptly, Bojack swiped a bottle from the duty-free shop, guzzled it down and tried to impress upon the F.R.I.E.N.D.S. how sad he was, and how terrible he'd made his life with all his brutally offensive and downright violent actions against other people.

_**WHAM!** _

Another F.R.I.E.N.D. had appeared and beaten Bojack over the head with a burned baguette that was as tough as (and whose excessively baked shade resembled) a hockey puck. Warden Tanner's men resumed dragging Bojack away to a special confinement area.

"You think my presentation is stilted, F.R.I.E.N.D.S.-4 Monica?"

"No, it is adequate, Chandler."

"I am Joey."

"My apologies, Joey. Let us return to the charging station and enter sleep mode."

The two cybrogs departed. Frasier was tossed into a cell for two: His cellmate would eventually arrive. But Frasier could indeed hear another voice in the cell nextdoor. He tapped on the wall, and the other side was silent for a while, before tapping back. They could hear each other well enough.

"Where... Where are we?" groaned Frasier-- Crane-Man.

"We're in hell, baby." said the Trash Man-- Frank Reynolds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, seriously. The HBO Watchmen show is going to be terrible.


	8. Live Frasier or Die Frank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frasier acclimates himself to prison life, though I suspect it won't be necessary for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is nearing its conclusion. In these final chapters, I would greatly appreciate comments. For better, for worse, or for laughs. Just feel free to say something in the comments. Anything. 
> 
> Thank you. And I hope you enjoy what's left.

Frasier was making his way through the cafeteria. All around he saw masked figures, and a rare few superhuman sorts who were allowed out and about since they'd been behaving. He hadn't seen Bojack Horseman though: Bojack had been too volatile and was sentenced to solitary confinement. Special Agent Michael Scott had pulled all the stops to make sure that people couldn't get out of here. 

"Hey, Crane-Guy! Wait up!"

Crane-Man grumbled as Trash Man waddled after him. They sat down together at the same table. Frank had been sticking with Frasier to avoid being beaten up by other costumed adventurers who he'd wronged. And fortunately, Crane-Man was capable enough to (unwillingly) defend the Trash Man. Not so much because of his skills, but because his sheer anger outweighed his once gentle tendencies.

"Stay away from me, Trash Man. We're not friends."

"And I says we are. Not like you hang with your wacko roommate much."

Crane-Man cursed under his breath. Bulldog Briscoe had been assigned as his cellmate in some cruel twist of fate. Couldn't get any sleep with all of Bulldog's cursing, crying and general ruckus. He hadn't changed much since being the KACL sports announcer.

"I'm tellin' ya, birdbrain! My buddy Green Man and the Gallant Gang are gonna bust me out. You stick with me, we'll go places."

Crane-Man just rolled his eyes and took his tray up, unable to finish the slop he'd been served. The longer he was in the Full House, the more it tore away at that quixotic dream he had set upon. Still, good men suffered while evil would profit: The heroes he saw here were left to suffer the abuses of the more villainous inmates, and what was worse was that most of the guards went along with it. Crane-Man's fighting skill was all that saved from from a truly horrible fate on several occasions. 

Now, he found himself returning to his cell. And there he found Bulldog. But this time, he did not shy away from him. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat across from him.

"Oh oh, it's you. Finally come to gloat, have you?" said Bulldog. "First my career as a sports radio host, then as a supervillain, now this?"

"No, Bulldog. I wanted to apologize, actually."

"... Oh I mean. The superhero thing. That's expected though, us going a few rounds, boom boom pow."

Bulldog did a few mock boxing punches while Crane-Man held his hand up to deflect them. But not with much effort.

"Bulldog, it's me. It's Frasier Crane. I'm apologizing for my behavior as a co-worker. In the beginning you were brash and boorish, but I suppose I was too-- just as a snob. Like choosing between a warrior king or a philosopher king. Either one still screws you over in the end, it's just a matter whether you want to be beaten on the street or crushed under unjust written laws. I could have made an effort to better myself, and perhaps to help you before you reached this point."

Bulldog actually took a moment to look down. He scratched at his nose-- one of his little tells that he was actually emotionally invested in the conversation.

"Gee, wow... I uh. I never thought about it like that. Maybe in another lifetime you and me, we coulda been pals, or at least better work buddies. And we'd score babes together? I'm talkin' babes with big gams, GINORMOUS gazongas."

"... I see some things don't change."

Frasier pinched the bridge of his nose. Bulldog had one or two moments of decency towards others. But ultimately he was still the same chauvinistic macho man as ever. He was too far into the supervillainy, the chest puffing masculinity that drove him to be such a brute to other men, and a creep to women.

"Bulldog?"

"Hang on, doc. I gotta tell my buddies in cell block C your secret identity. The bozos there won't believe it!"

And then Frasier punched Bulldog square in the face. Bulldog was shocked by the sudden attack, and tried to level a fist at Frasier. But Frasier punched him again. Bulldog respected no one but himself, and certain celebrity athletes. 

"This is just a dream, Bulldog!" said Frasier, suddenly. "I mean, really. Frasier Crane? Become an absurd cartoon hero? Try to change the world-- even just a little bit in his city? Let alone the fact he's suddenly now capable of incredible feats-- of, of martial arts, stealth, investigation... That he could help anyone!"

"Haha-- ouch! Yeah, that's a good point." laughed the meatheaded Bulldog. "I musta taken one too many knocks on the noggin out on the prison yard playin' football with the guys. It's just a bad dream. Frasier Crane's a no-neck chump what can't do nothin'! You ever hear his advice? P.U.!"

Bulldog didn't go down until fifty punches in when Frasier put his hands together and started hitting him with axe-handle blows. And when Bulldog was on the ground, still awake, still groaning, Frasier started kicking him in the gut. For a moment it felt good. But guilt washed over him as he slowly came to a halt, leaning against the wall and trying to catch his breath. He could feel the tears streaming down his face. Bulldog's loud snoring indicated that he was still alive. And Frasier tucked him into bed, realizing he'd stopped him for now. But he would just come back again, riled up and ready to do even worse. Frasier might have protected his secret identity for a while longer. But he couldn't stop himself from destroying who he was. What he had set out in this mask to do.

And as Bulldog snored some more, the scum of the world still alive and well... Frasier's dream on the other hand, had died.

X

Niles still kind of couldn't believe the information on the Full House was freely available. Marty Crane was surprised too: It meant he'd have to dig up other info for Niles and the rest of this new team he'd brought together. The recruitment drive hadn't gone so well: Only a few lesser known heroes volunteered. And while Niles was thankful for the assistance, he needed more than just people to fill the ranks. He needed the best of the best. 

The doorbell to Frasier's apartment had rung. And when Niles went to open it, Elaine Benes stood in the doorway.

"Kramer and George Costanza-- are they here?" said Elaine. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. 

"Who's asking?"

"I'm the one Roz mentioned. You must be Niles?"

"Ah! Elaine Benes. Good to finally meet you."

And just as Elaine stepped in the door, Kramer was stepping away from the dinner table where he had been helping Daphne Moon make her costume. When he saw Elaine, he couldn't help but burst into tears, rushing over to take her up into a hug. 

"I thought I'd never see you again." he choked back a sob. "Have you seen Jerry?"

"Me neither. And no, I thought he'd still been with you guys." said Elaine, wiping at her eyes. "Roz told me about George. You listen to me, Cosmo Kramer: That was NOT your fault. I'm sorry I left when that all happened."

"You deserved a vacation after everything that was happening then."

Elaine gave Kramer a pat, and turned to face Niles. 

"Whenever you're ready, I'm with you guys. Hilary too."

"And I'll call up the volunteers." said Kramer. "There's a few youngsters here who say they were trained by someone who works for the bureau in charge of the Full House-- Some guy at 'The Office' they call 'Sharpschruter.'" 

"You get their names, my friend?" said Niles.

"Carly, Sam and Freddie. They told me they'll handle him. They say once we're on the inside they'll free Carly's older brother. Apparently he's really powerful-- Sharpschruter had him locked up for research purposes."

"The fiend." cursed Niles. "I loathe the idea of allowing these youths to join us. But if they know how The Office operates, I do at least welcome their insight. Just promise me they'll be accompanied at all times."

"You got it, Niles." said Kramer, putting his hand on the psychiatrist's shoulder. "... We'll get Frasier back too. I just know it."

"Thank you, Kramer."

Just then, the blanket covered form of George stumbled out of Marty's bedroom. He leaned against the wall for support, and Kramer rushed to support him. But George refused to take the assistance.

"Count me in too, fellas."

"George, you're in no shape to fight." said Kramer. "You're terribly ill."

"No... No, it's not weakness. It's just. I have this inexplicable desire to act. Reserves of stamina that need to be released. But not just for any task. It's gotta be somethin' real! Somethin' big, somethin' dangerous!"

Just then, Elaine drew a sword from seemingly nowhere. After nearly knocking over some of Frasier's antiques on one of the tables, she held it high so it would gleam under a light.

"You've got the blade of Sister Sword on your side."

George paused. He and Kramer both coughed, before Kramer struck a pose.

"Yes, and the many talents of Odd Jobber!" cried Kramer.

"Look, can we just get on with it?!" exclaimed George. Just then, Marty Crane and his dog Eddie had entered the apartment in a hurry.

"Dad, what's wrong?" asked Niles.

"Turn on the news!" 

Everyone hurried to find the remote and switch to the news: Something dire was happening. The news anchor on the screen, as well as various bystanders were running and screaming.

"We're live here in New Jersey where-- where oh my god. My god, the Philadelphia based Gallant Gang has entered into an armed standoff with prison security. We have been informed that the... Holy Hamburger, Late Night Show Host-- No sorry, the Holy Harbinger, the Laconian and Ostrichette are opening fire with heavy weapons and--"

There was an explosion in the background that shook up the camera crew. And after a few more, the Laconian stumbled forward, laughing.

"BOOM, BABY!"

And then, the Laconian turned around to grab the microphone out of the news anchor's hand and spoke directly to the public

"Just so we're clear, this is not a terrorist attack." said Laconian. "In fact, we're here to save our fellow heroes and hold our government accountable for the stupidity they're putting us through with a facility like this. Support YOUR costumed adventurers! Support the Gallant Gang! If anyone wants TV deals, here's my card!"

Laconian held a calling card in front of the camera before being pulled aside by the Holy Harbinger.

"Also, I'm SINGLE! And a highly skilled lovemaker!" exclaimed Laconian, before charging into the Full House.

Niles's jaw had dropped at the sight of this. Those idiots were going to get people killed. He took out his cell phone, and started dialing.

"Daph, let's go. We have to make our move now."

Daphne put on her domino mask to make sure it fit right. Once the spirit gum did its magic, she set about the rest of her costume.

"Bloody terrific they had to go in-- and armed no less! What have we got?"

"Decency!" chimed in Kramer. "Hope and Justice, the ideals that cannot be touched, but still very much felt!"

"Kramer, you're a dear but I meant _our_ arsenal."

Once Niles finished speaking, he waved everyone forward.

"Grab your things. We're storming the gates!"

X

Special Agent Michael "Scarn" Scott watched the chaos with frustration. Goldenface was leading the guards in fending off the Gallant Gang, but stopping them and the prisoners was fruitless. On another level, some of the inmates were trying to reach Bojack's containment area: Other meta-powered people were being kept there.. He couldn't understand why, but Crane-Man remained in his cell: Only attacking those who came near him. Not to mention, he was using Bulldog Briscoe as a human shield.

"Sharpschruter?"

Dwight "Sharpschruter" Schrute was loading up on tactical gear off to the side, strapping a couple of sheathed scimitars to his back and also grabbing a couple dozen other little blades, bombs and guns.

"I had a bad feeling about today when I showed up. I stopped by Mr. Shay's cell to see how he was doing, and he seemed more pleasant than usual. Far too pleasant."

"Well, his sister and her little friends aren't here yet. Secure the Intrinsic Field Subtractor on that level. That device may be our only means of stopping the powered inmates. For good."

Dwight nodded, before putting on a helmet and stepping out. Scarn took out his own pistol, cocking it and making sure all the parts were working. But he'd been waiting for a day unlike any other. A day just like this. 

He was ready for war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is the DEAL with Jerry? Where is he??


	9. War: What Is It Good For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let them fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pow. And thank you readers for following the story as you have. This will likely be the final installment, but please stay tuned for the chapter notes at the end for more exciting info!

"It's finally TIME. TIME for ME to make my DEBUT. I WILL knock THEIR socks OFF!"

Maller was a strange, hostile man. A culmination of racism, misogyny and generalized misanthropy towards others had resulted in a desire to lash out at a world that wasn't praising him. He thought the world of himself, to the point that he actually believed his generic qualities were unique, and not shared by a billion other dudes out there in the world. But he was here to participate in the prison break. Perhaps to even join the Gallant Gang, who he had studied for so long from their various TV news appearances. 

He was clad in somber attire: A half mask that showed off his stubbly jawline, in all its sweaty, frantic glory. He descended from the ledge he was perched on, smashing a TV news crew's camera and using the microphone to bludgeon anyone else that was unfortunate enough to be within range. There was a sickening cracking of bones. So much so that Maller did not notice when a man in a fullbody green suit appeared.

"YOU! Join me in EXACTING some real JUSTICE to these LAWLESS sacks of-- you know!"

"Yeah, sure man." said the Rat King Detective: The Green Man. "So uh. What's your stake in this? I saw some guys saying they wanted to free that birdbrain, Crane-Man. And that Gallant Gang bunch is shooting the place up to get Trash Man back."

"I'm HERE only FOR myself. Destruction of EVERYTHING in this JOINT. And to make PROFICIENT WHOOPEE to celebrate my MANLY SUCCESSES."

"Oh yeah yeah I can dig that! Partying after a job well done. Got a special somebody in mind?"

Maller offered over a picture. Green Man paled: It was the love of his life. Charlie Kelly's own beloved Waitress. Even if she didn't feel quite the same about him, he just knew it was always meant to be anyway. He'd make it so. And... Yeah, something is kind of wrong with this picture. Please none of you ever think of this as true healthy love.

"Oh! oh yeah. You uh, you really have a fine pick there, bud."

"HEH. I could do BETTER than a FRUMPY OLD MAID but I decided MAYBE this one was WORTHY of my GRACE." said Maller, waving for Green Man to follow. "Anyways, we'd better get GOING."

"Yeah, yeah we should. Just gonna play our cards..." Green Man gripped the rat bat a little tighter, imagining how he was going to use it on Maller soon. "... Go wild."

Green Man-- Charlie raised the rat bat, and prepared to bring it down on Maller's head. A terrible war cry could be heard echoing through the Full House. Charlie had gone berserk, and would smash anyone in his way with the rat bat, or by pelting them with glass beer bottles.

X

The F.R.I.E.N.D.S. had all been deployed into the prison. Blasting inmates with their cannons that seemed to carry dazzling-- rather, blinding fireworks projectiles that knocked people around and set ablaze their linens. Their powerful exo-skeletons pulverized bones and the flesh of the weak would suffer from internal bleeding. And then they'd probably die.

I'd write a whole scene and dialogue of characterization, but that would suggest F.R.I.E.N.D.S as a TV series has any substance worth exploring. But point is, they're holding the fort and protecting the Intrinsic Field Subtractor for the time being.

X

"Not so fast, Ghastly Gang!"

"No-- for the love of god!" bellowed Laconian. It's "Gallant Ga-ah-ah-AUGH!"

Laconian and Holy Harbinger-- that is, Dennis and Mac, had come face to face with Cricket. He looked like even more of a zombie than he did before, sauntering, almost perpetually grinning. The two men immediately started shooting Cricket with their big machine guns which they were NOT using to overcompensate for any feelings of inadequacy whatsoever. Cricket fell to the ground dead, and the two high-fived before trying to step over him without getting blood on their shoes.

"W-Wait, I'm not finished yet."

"D-D-D'LACONIAN HE'S GOT MY ANKLE! HE'S TOUCHING IT!"

"Kick him off, dude! I can't shoot him if you're in my way!"

"No, wait! I have a speech! I have a plan! And you clowns are gonna-- OOF."

Holy Harbinger had kicked Cricket in the mouth and Laconian sprayed him again. Cricket would regenerate crudely, but the process would only slow down, lagging even further the more he took damage. His revenge was seemingly for nothing. The zombie crawled towards a cell block, trying to find a chamber to hide in so he could recuperate like earlier when those mobsters beat the tar out of him. It was a harrowing effort: He was stomped on by the F.R.I.E.N.D.S. when he tried to enter the Intrinsic Field Subtractor chamber. All hope seemed lost until he managed to take an unconscious guard's hand and forced it into a random scanner. And out came the stomping of a lifetime.

"What's a guy gotta do to get INVITED to a PARTY in his own prison?!" neighed Bojack Horseman. He spotted a guard cowering in the corner,  and advanced on him: He reached down, the guard screaming as Bojack took his belt, and tore off a hip flask. The guard sighed in relief, but Bojack flicked off the cap of the hip flask and raised it to the sky.

"That's hilarious: You thought you were safe."

X

Le Bec was fencing against as many as ten men. Inmates with lead pipes, guards with nightsticks. And he bested them all. Not far off was his darling Crescent: Niles and Daphne had been training together, synchronizing their fighting styles. Niles, graceful and smooth as Le Bec. And Daphne, with a great ferocity as Crescent. Her costume featured a high collared Dracula cloak, domino mask, and similar vestments to Niles's Le Bec costume, though exclusively in a silver shade. Not far off were the Fresh Prince and Fresh Princess, Will and Hillary were sticking with Niles and Daphne, the four commanding the charge.

"W-Wait up for me!"

Kramer and George, dressed in a hooded robe were following after some swift teenagers: Carly, Sam and Freddie. The three were in a dire hurry to find Dwight "Sharpschruter" Schrute, and Carly's brother Spencer. The teens moved with incredible precision and agility. Sam's unarmed strikes were like if a boxer had sledgehmmers for fists, Carly firing off dual submachine guns. And Freddie was carrying a heavy device mounted on his shoulder: A laser cannon. Kramer-- as Odd Jobber was a regular joe of crimefighting, using a stumbling style that might have passed for drunken kung fu and penchak silat. 

"Kramer... I feel a great energy nearby." groaned George. "It's givin' me this funny tingle."

"Well, then let's go there George! I'll bet that's where we need to go. Maybe it's just what you need."

George said nothing. When they got to the cell block for powered inmates, they saw that Bojack Horseman's cell was open. Freddie stepped over to a cell and toyed with the scanner, before the door opened. Out came a young man with lengthy hair: His room was a mix of scorch marks and bizarre, but incredibly creative and wonderful artwork. 

"Carly. I've been expecting you guys." said Spencer.

"It's good to see you too, Spencer." said Carly. "Go with our friend Odd Jobber here. Get out of the building."

"I'm not leaving without you guys!" exclaimed Spencer. Then, Sam stepped up.

"We're going to get a swing in on Sharpschruter. You might be needed elsewhere. Got it?"

Spencer just smiled at the thought, and nodded. The three teens scurried off to find their former mentor and mission commander, while Spencer looked to Kramer.

"What can I do to help?"

Kramer was about to speak when he saw some new F.R.I.E.N.D.S. advancing on them. 

"Well for starters son, you could uh... keep some distance between us and these bozos."

Spencer turned to face the F.R.I.E.N.D.S., grinning wildly. He remembered how these mechanical goons, Warden Tanner's men and Sharpschruter used to destroy his artwork. Taunt him with the guarantee that The Full House would hold him forever. But they said that when his abilities were in their infancy: Now, Spencer was ready. The ground before them erupted into a wall of flame, briefly causing the F.R.I.E.N.D.S. to back away. Odd Jobber cheered, but those sinister cyborgs were adapting their exo-skeletons, unfolding a layer of armor that would give them some heat resistance. Spencer blasted them with pyrokinetic bolts, and Odd Jobber tripped them up with some low karate kicks, fighting desperately to create space. But with more than one F.R.I.E.N.D.S. unit active, Spencer could only do so much.

Until the blade of the newly christened amazon warrior Elaine-- now dubbed Sister Sword had appeared! Her blade and the strength of her arm clashed with the cyborgs. Spencer was hovering beside Sister Sword, throwing fireballs like a baseball pitcher who had a crate full of baseballs, and arms that didn't know when to quit. All the F.R.I.E.N.D.S. were distracted.

X

"Crane-Man!"

Crane-Man... Rather, just Frasier in a bird-themed superhero costume, remained in his cell. Few dared to approach, as swaths of unconscious prisoners and guards alike had been beaten within an inch of their lives. But Frasier had refused to leave his cell. Bulldog Briscoe was still out, though the snoring had stopped once Frasier had put a clothespin on his nose. Le Bec and Crescent were first into the cell, slowly so as not to appear as enemies to be instantly attacked. The Fresh Prince and Princess stood by the doorway, guarding against potential attackers.

"Le Bec. I don't answer to that alias anymore."

"Crane-Man, that's preposterous. You have to come with us. Everything is going straight to hell in a handweaved basket. The world needs you."

"Maybe it needs me, perhaps. But what would I do, brother? What would I do that might have a lasting effect? It was a fool's errand, Niles. Evil will always profit. There will always be a Bulldog Briscoe, a Gallant Gang-- someone who believes they can get a little more than the rest of us, while those in power keep beckoning them with a new temptation every time."

Niles looked to Daphne. And then to Frasier.

"Frasier... If it hadn't been for you, I would never have gone on this journey. Neither would Daphne, and we've realized our feelings for each other sooner than I could have ever dreamed of. Will and Hillary both carry on Phillip Banks's valiant efforts to root out crime and corruption on the west coast. And countless others see the hate in their veins... the power they have to harm, and they have elected to use it to protect. And we all have you to thank for your exercise in excitement, empathy and effort to make our world a better place... not alone. But as a world of people united, as we always should have been."

But Frasier only took off his mask.

"You look at me, Niles. Am I truly some romantic figure? A god amongst men, ideals incarnate? I am no such thing. Perhaps it could still be you. You are the Crane boy this Earth truly needs."

"... Frasier, for god's sake." said Daphne, chiming in. "Nobody's perfect. You could have all the skill and power, all the means in the world. But the important thing is you use whatever you have to improve life for others and yourself. And you have done that as a psychiatrist on and off the radio... donating to charity... and putting your life on the line for others. Inspiring them to reach for goals they might never have aimed for in the past. All because of your patience, your optimism..."

There was a silence. And in that moment, Will stepped forward to meet Frasier.

"I have been the spark, but I cannot be the flame that guides the way to this future." said Frasier. "I'm sorry, my boy."

"Frasier, everybody loses hope sometimes." said Will "But it's how we get back on our feet when things get bad that counts. It's why I always crack a joke beneath the mask..."

Will put his hand on Frasier's shoulder. 

"We need you to hope again. Be the dreamer."

Will stepped out to rejoin Hilary. Niles adjusted his mask and took Daphne's hand, before stepping out. Frasier looked at his own mask for a moment. He thought of his family. The friends of past and future. And he thought of his ex-wife Lilith. 

And then he thought of his son, Frederick. Maybe Frasier was not perfect. Frederick was a smart boy with a good heart. Like all people he was not technically perfect. But to Frasier, the boy's own parent, he was the most beautiful thing in the world. For all he'd made, writing scientific journals, poetry and the like. None came so close as his desire to see Frederick grow up and carve a place for himself in life. 

He put the mask back on.

X

"We're actually doing it! We've got the F.R.I.E.N.D.S. on the run!"

Spencer and Sister Sword laughed it up. The F.R.I.E.N.D.S. may have had superhuman power, but so did the two heroes opposing them all. Everything seemed fine until the final F.R.I.E.N.D. appeared. Largest of them, surprisingly the most pathetic. But this F.R.I.E.N.D. was deployed only once the rest were in the field too. All for one purpose.

"Ross. Initiate HYPER-LINK SYSTEM." came the monotone exclamation of Monica. Or possibly Chandler. It was hard to tell who said what. 

Sister Sword and Spencer looked up: The F.R.I.E.N.D.S. had combined their exo-skeletons, and converted their organic parts briefly into energy before turning into an even bigger version of Ross: The Omega F.R.I.E.N.D.!

"Well, it's been nice knowing ya, kid." said Sister Sword. She lowered her blade and sighed, awaiting doom. Spencer tried to pour on the heat, but it only slowed the Omega F.R.I.E.N.D. down. The Omega F.R.I.E.N.D. began to fire searing hot laser beams from its eyes, smashing the foundations of that particular cell block until the place was shaking as if it had fallen prey to a sentient Earthquake. And the place had been built with Earthquakes in mind, but still faltered under the Omega F.R.I.E.N.D.'s power.

"TODAY AIN'T YOUR DAY, YOU GUYS." said the Omega F.R.I.E.N.D., reaching out to grab Spencer and Sister Sword by the throats to finally end them. "BY THE POWER INVESTED IN ME LEGALLY, AND THE POWER INVESTED IN MY MULTIPLE F.R.I.E.N.D. UNITS, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. FOREVER."

"But you and the guards imprisoned and hurt our friends!" exclaimed Sister Sword.

"ZERO TOLERANCE, MISSY. NO ONE WINS." said the Omega F.R.I.E.N.D. "YOU MUST SUFFER FELONIOUS PUNISHMENT. OUR LAW ENFORCEMENT SPECIALISTS WILL SUFFER THE APPROPRIATE AMOUNT OF SLAPS ON THE WRIST AS WELL. FOR YOU SEE, WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY--"

Speaking of slaps on the wrist, a blue hand smacked away the Omega F.R.I.E.N.D.'s own grasping bionic hands.

"I used to think I was sayin' that too. But the way I say it? "Y'know we are LIVING in a SOCIETY!..." means somethin' different!"

The Omega F.R.I.E.N.D. gasped at the sight: A hooded figure, and behind him he was dragging two things: A broken baseball bat, and an unconscious Bojack Horseman, both of which he proceeded to throw at the Omega F.R.I.E.N.D. as projectiles.

"... We're supposed to act, in a CIVILIZED WAY! Look out for our fellow human beings! Your way suggests we ain't never gonna change. And for a long time? Ol' Georgie thought nothin' good would come out of this. That being an eggplant-- a mutant, was nothin' to be thrilled about. But here I am, seein' you putzes puttin' the squeeze on some of THE MOST honest people I know? Well I got one thing to say to ya."

And then, two blue fists clenched, raised up, and began to wind-up in a big cartoon spin before throwing a superhuman strike that tore through the bomb shelter thick walls of the facility. The Omega F.R.I.E.N.D. shoved off the broken bits of baseball bat and the unconscious Bojack Horseman, before spotting the blue figure landing a few feet before him, about to let loose on the Omega F.R.I.E.N.D. with a double axe-handle blow that would cause a sound barrier breaking thunderclap.

**"GEORGE IS GETTIN' UPSET!!"**

X

Dennis tore off the mask. The charade was growing tiresome. And the bullets in his gun were dwindling. Mac was back to his fake karate moves, more distracting guards by confusing, or making them laugh. Dee was a bird, as usual. His gangly uncoordinated sister was in a cell after a really attractive guard tricked her into waiting for him there. And worst of all, he couldn't even find Crane-Man. He couldn't take his revenge on the man. Plus, he'd just spotted a balding blue guy beating the tar out of a big cyborg.

"Hey, what the hell are ya doin' there, Dennis?"

Trash Man and Green Man-- Frank and Charlie had appeared. Dennis scowled at them.

"Frank! We've been looking for you. Charlie, how did you get here?"

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies, Dennis. Anyways you missed it! There was this big fight between these like hulking dudes, some assassin teenagers versus this guy in body armor. And then me and Frank took out a couple of government agents!"

"Damn right we did, Charlie!" laughed Frank, holding up Goldenface's gun. "I just threw a garbage can at 'em and then I ate the garbage. Turns out my trash can has a sharp edge and that dumbass with the piss yellow face paint like some kinda football fan just bled out. And then that big jerkoff Special Agent Scarn started cryin' and everything!"

"Alright, stickin' it to the man. I can get behind that." said Dennis, nodding. His mood was uplifted a bit. "But we need something to turn the tide in favor of the Gallant Gang. You guys got any ideas?"

Charlie and Frank looked at each other, but they were struggling.

"Aw, I dunno. Let's go watch the funny light show inside the Intrinsic Field Subtractor."

Dennis shushed Frank.

"Say that again, Frank." 

"Funny light show?"

"No, the other part."

"Aw, I dunno?"

"The name of the machine you saw! Was it the Intrinsic Field Subtractor?"

"Hell yeah it was!"

Dennis had an evil grin now. That was the device that turned Doctor Manhattan into who he was now. And it would turn Dennis into the golden god he'd always dreamed of becoming. 

"Then lead the way, Frank! Time's a wastin' just standing here... imperfect. Human."

They made their way there. Dennis entered the machine, and Charlie started messing with the controls. Dennis laughed for a while. 

And then Frasier laughed too.

"Crane-Man! You sonuva--"

"I'm NOT listening. I'm going to knock some sense into your overcooked noggin, you weasel!"

The two were inside the chamber together. Electrical power crackled, and particles flew through the air as they wrestled. Eventually a great power surge occurred and the machine exploded in a shower of sparks. And the top of it was disintegrated as two figures-- one glowing golden, the other silver, crashed through the ceiling. A particle shockwave went off, causing all the electrical devices in the Full House to go haywire. Everyone rushed outside to look up in the sky. Even George looked up from dancing on the Omega F.R.I.E.N.D.'s cowering body and trading punches with Bojack, who had regained consciousness. Great surges of subatomic power erupted in the sky, the atmosphere ablaze with power as Frasier and Dennis hurled godlike Tesla bolts at each other. They wrestled again, and went crashing into things. But instead of dealing damage, they transmuted them with their newfound matter manipulation powers: A statue of some historic figure became a golden statue of Dennis in his new Golden God form. A local beer brewery was converted into a fancier winery. And then a movie theater bounced between being turned into an opera hall and then back to a movie theater, but with pornographic adult cinema featured. Those purchasing tickets outside watched as their tickets changed similarly, from casual film, to opera, to an XXX showing ticket. 

And then finally, the two ended up in space. Away from everyone. Away from it all.

"Ahem."

Frasier and Dennis slapped at each other for a while longer, ignoring the new voice.

**"AHEM!"**

And then, a force on par with Frasier and Dennis separated the two. And it stripped them of their power, save for enough of it to serve as life support in space. And then Frasier gasped: Before them was the light blue glow, and equally cerulean nudity of Doctor Manhattan himself. The original superhuman of this universe.

"By jove!" cried Frasier. "It's you! Doctor Manhattan, I've been looking for you! Or at least I WAS until I was sidetracked by the escalating superhero conflict on Earth and--"

"Silence, Dr. Frasier Crane."

"... Y-Yes sir. I'm listening."

"Haha." sneered Dennis. But Doctor Manhattan slapped him silly.

"You two have disrupted the Earth's modern era of peace. I had believed that with Ozymandias's faked alien invasion by way of giant nuclear squids would have ushered in the beginnings of a new, more perfect society. But I can see now that like Rorschach, whose insipid, incel nightmare fantasy addled mind who I disintegrated before, the same must be done to you two idiots."

"But wait!" cried Frasier. "Where have you been?"

"Everywhere and nowhere, Frasier. To the DC Universe, where I clashed with the Justice League. And to make an appearance in a really pretentious TV series that serves as a 'sequel' to the events underwent by myself and my former companions in the vigilante community."

"You... don't seem like yourself." said Frasier. Dennis could only nod, even as much as he hated Frasier this was kind of weird.

"I felt your buffoonery as soon as the one called 'George Costanza' realized his true power. After you two used another Intrinsic Field Subtractor and nearly tore apart the fabric of existence with your slap fight. But now the time has come for your disintegration. I have overseen this universe's growth from 1985 onward, and I refuse to let its shot at utopia be botched by a couple of men who comedically deal with everyday situations in their lives... like a sitcom, as it were."

Doctor Manhattan looked first to Frasier.

"Dr. Frasier Crane, your quixotic mission to better the world was foolhardy to the nth degree. But with my ability to observe the timestream to some vague, yet incredibly convenient extent, I can see your efforts have paid off. Many of the vigilantes you inspired will continue to fight the good fight. And on top of that, they may do so without fear, as Congresswoman Knope will abolish the Keane Act and support superhero activity for years to come. Your destruction will ensure you will never undo the good you've brought about in some act of snobbish hubris as you have been known for in the past. Except this time you can't move to a new city to escape the past. This is the final end for you."

Frasier tried to argue, but then Dennis leaned in.

"And uh. and what about me?"

Doctor Manhattan gave Dennis some serious side eye.

"What about you, stupid? You've done untold harm to hundreds, almost thousands. Almost the entire universe if I allowed you to remain as a golden god. But unfortunately your element on the periodic table was not gold, but pyrite. FOOL'S gold. I take the utmost pleasure in disintegrating you, you moron. If you were in such a position that for killing you I myself would die, I would die happy knowing I've extinguished your evil flame. You are a detriment to society. The human race cannot POSSIBLY advance in a positive, meaningful way as long as scummy creeps like you are taking advantage of people's kindness and harassing women. Which is why I'm going to absorb your energy first and then let your face explode in the cold hard vacuum of space before vaporizing your remains. Frasier will die a much faster death."

Doctor Manhattan hovered in front of Dennis, and from Dennis the power provided by the Intrinsic Field Subtractor began to pour out through his eyes and mouth, almost as if Doctor Manhattan were sucking Dennis's soul out.

 "Doctor Manhattan, please! As a fellow man of science and crimefighting, please reconsider!"

And then, Doctor Manhattan actually stopped.

"Your nobility is touching, Frasier. That you still accept your fate, but wish for another, even one as horrid as Dennis Reynolds to live to survive... Even without you there to counter him."

"I didn't say that at all. Actually, can we talk this over? Perhaps analyze why you're doing all of this?"

"You disappoint me, Crane." said Manhattan, grabbing Frasier as well and preparing to steal energy from both of them until they were lifeless husks he could disintegrate. "And that's the curtain call."

But as Doctor Manhattan was about to kill the two, he saw between them a speck on the moon. And it only seemed to get bigger, and bigger. Until it resembled the shape of a man in a strange blue and red suit. With the letters 'M.M.' emblazoned on the chest as a logo.

"You!... The one I've been avoiding for so long."

"Yeah, it's me alright. You lout. Thought you'd seen the last of me. But I've been waiting on the moon since our last bout."

Doctor Manhattan held Frasier and Dennis a little tighter in his grip.

"Stay back. I'm not afraid of you."

"Oh, well then. How come you're not sayin' my name? What, am I some kinda two-bit Voldemort? And what is the DEAL with J.K. Rowling? I mean, how wizards use the bathroom is certainly not on my top list of things I need to know before I die. But hey: I ain't dyin' for a while. Now am I?"

"..."

"Go on, you overgrown blueberry. Tell me who's the crumb that oughtta back off."

"I said STAY BACK, JERRY!"

Jerry Seinfeld put on a grin. How couldn't he, after all this time using his newfound power to get revenge on the naked blue guy manipulating everyone's lives?

"Eeeyyy there we go! Announcin' my entrance and everything! But hey..."

Jerry disappeared in a burst of speed. And then he reappeared in front of Doctor Manhattan, breaking his seemingly godlike arms to free Frasier and Dennis, before angling to punch Doctor Manhattan into the next dimension.

"Call me Miserableman."

And with a mighty swing of his fist, Doctor Manhattan was banished from this plane of existence for the time being. Miserableman-- Jerry, turned to address the two former hostages of Doctor Manhattan.

"I've got you. And I bet you're wonderin'," said Jerry, slowly, calmly flying them back down to Earth. "Who's got me? Well, I got me too. Hey, anybody want some pez?"

Frasier and Dennis just looked at each other, before nodding. Jerry gave them both some pez candy from a pez dispenser with the head of Tweety from Looney Tunes. They landed at the feet of the Statue of Liberty in New York, Jerry landing and standing beside them as the three considered their existence.

"So. Guess the three of us are like... the new world order huh? With all our amazing powers, right?" laughed Dennis.

Frasier just smirked, and punched Dennis. With a punch no stronger than the power he had before entering the Intrinsic Field Subtractor. And then Jerry punted Dennis several miles away towards the sea. 

"Oh, he'll live." said Jerry. "A boat'll find him."

"That boat can take its time. What will you do next, Jerry?"

Jerry looked towards the city of New York. And he couldn't help but point at it.

"I wanna go eat at this one soup joint. It's run by this real wacky guy. But follow the ordering procedure and you'll be okay... Best soup in the city. Wanna come with?"

Frasier rubbed the back of his neck. 

"Well. I'd love to... But I think I'd just like to take the costume off, and sit down at home with my family and new friends to surround me."

"Fair enough. Ya sure you don't want a crab bisque or somethin' to go?"

"... You know what Jerry, sure."

And Jerry picked up Frasier again, and they flew towards the restaurant to pick up their meal.

"There's just one thing I don't understand Jerry. How did you attain such fantastic powers? Why were you hunting Doctor Manhattan? Why appear just now? It's all so baffling! I--"

And they landed. Jerry gestured for Frasier to stop talking.

"I'm still workin' out the origin story myself. It's all still such a mystery to me as well. And I mean... Doctor Manhattan was just being a big jerk. I'd have come sooner but I was trapped on an alien world by the big blue bum, with barely any mastery over my abilities. All I knew for sure was: 'If this were Superman in my position, he'd break free, help people out and sock Manhattan right on the jaw.' So that's what I'm gonna do from here on out. Help people, sock jerks in the jaw and make sure things don't get as crazy as they did here."

The two entered the restaurant, where an angry shouting man roared '--YOU ASKED FOR BREAD AND WON'T PAY TWO DOLLARS EXTRA! AND YOU, DISRUPTING MY LINE BY CUTTING IN FRONT OF YOUR NEIGHBOR. NO SOUP FOR YOU!'

"Gosh. And we can actually procure our meal here?" said Frasier.

"Yeah, though I do fear this is a villain in the making. You up for one more adventure, Crane-Man?"

Frasier fixed his costume once more. 

"I have at least a few more left in me. Additionally, I would quite like to acquire some of this vaunted soup... of the Soup Nazi!"

And the two charged in, ushering a new era of superheroics. And all their family, and all their friends would be along for that next great adventure, as they had been for this one. 

Others such as Dennis, and The Gang slithered back to their hole in the wall, back to Paddy's Pub. Cricket, to a sewer manhole. Some people just never learned.

Niles and Daphne would propose to each other, and plan their wedding. Martin couldn't have been prouder of them, and of Frasier, who continued his vigilantism, albeit at a more relaxed pace.

Will and Hilary, with the respect and aid of Frasier always-- returned to Bel-Air with Bojack Horseman in tow. Will eventually got over his guilt. He realized that the good he did outweighed his mistakes. And that everyone loved him for his efforts. Even Carlton, who would give him a second chance on Hilary's word.

As Doctor Manhattan predicted, Congresswoman Leslie Knope was able to abolish the Keane Act, and renew superheroics, at least in America. She saw to the repurposed role of The Office and the Full House, to resume their former objectives. But now they would be tempered by the hand of fairness, as they tackled international and supernatural threats-- as well as working to overthrow the corporate overlords who secretly ruled the world.

Elaine and Roz remained together for a while longer romantically, even looking to a potential future together. One in which they would remain in New York to join the antics of their now shared social circles. And to eventually adopt and raise an infant daughter named Alice.

And Elaine once more, along with George and Kramer were reunited with Jerry. The four have since committed to forming a new super-team. The big guns, in case of Doctor Manhattan's return, or perhaps a horde of artificially generated atomic squids were dropped all over the world.

Maller woke up cold and alone in the only part of the Full House that survived: Warden Tanner's personal executive bathroom. He was later seen entering life or death one-on-one personal combat with the Warden and his two closest aides: Captains Jesse and Joey.

Goldenface was killed by Trash Man. And Agent Scarn was so disgraced he went into hiding. But, as for the Sharpschruter...

X

Dwight "Sharpschruter" Schrute was peering through a pair of binoculars. His cousin Mose was polishing a speargun for him. The two were on top of a rooftop in Seattle, watching as Carly and Spencer Shay, as well as their little friends Sam and Freddie were welcomed back into their apartment complex with open arms. The inhabitants uncaring of their past as super-assassins, trained by Sharpschruter himself.

Sharpschruter lowered the binoculars. His face was scarred, he wore an eyepatch over one eye, and one cheek was still bruised. 

"I will-- ow. Give me another tylenol, Mose." he grumbled, rubbing his bruised cheek as his cousin handed him the pill bottle, and Dwight foolishly dry swallowed the pills instead of drinking water after, which was the sensible thing to do.

"... Anyways. I will have them back under my command. You don't just train a team of hip young killers who could put a commando squad to shame just for them to go lead normal lives. No... You get them disciplined, and back on the clock. Even if the whole bureau's gone to the cleaners, and they've just about bought the farm."

Sharpschruter put on his helmet, and took up the speargun, before pointing it at someone on the street. Someone Carly and Spencer knew. Because he was almost a hundred percent certain that was Carly on the street arguing with them like they were family, and not some clone.

"There's our 'in,' Mose. They'll have to come after us knowing that this guy's down."

But when Sharpschruter got over there, they were confused by the sight before them:

"Drake. Why is there a spear in my thigh?" Said the victim of Sharpschruter's attack.

"Well I mean... Clearly someone shot a speargun at you, Josh."

Josh nodded.

"Oh yeah, certainly. Someone shot me with a speargun and YOU'RE NOT CALLING AN AMBULANCE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!!"

Drake was fumbling to dial his phone. Sharpschruter just stared at Mose, before turning to address Josh.

"Hey uh, nothing personal kid. But we need you as bait to lure Carly Shay. There she is now."

"Carly? No, that's our sister Megan. We don't know any Carly Shay." said Josh, through the pain.

And then Sharpschruter glared at Mose. 

"You said these guys were high value targets!"

Mose nodded, but did not explain why Drake & Josh were high value targets. Their sister Megan just laughed the whole time before leaving Josh to suffer from his spear injury.

Sharpschruter would have to meticulously plan again.

But in another story.

This one's over.

Bye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end. And perhaps we may explore Jerry's adventures in a sequel someday. Either that or an even more absurd fic involving self-inserts, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and some mockery of that universe.
> 
> Additionally, I do also run an original web fiction blog for a series I've been working on for a while. And much like Botchmen, I need to get back on track with that as I've managed to do with Botchmen. Here's a handy dandy link:
> 
> https://therallyverse.tumblr.com/
> 
> Plus, a thread of comic strips I've been writing with my good artist friend. Here's a link to the thread on their twitter art account: https://twitter.com/curlytsunamiART/status/1101665909972877312
> 
> Classes and other stuff have slowed me down, but I hope to get back to writing original and fan fiction alike that hopefully you guys might be interested in following.
> 
> So until next time. These deft hands, by pen or keyboard will continue at the magic of creation. Spinning yarns for as long as I have the ability to do so.
> 
> This is Doc Retro saying until we meet again: Good Night.

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats, you're reading... whatever this fic is.
> 
> Anyways, vigilantism is very much alive and well. But stay tuned for more thrilling developments, big laughs and more.
> 
> Until then everyone, good night, sleep tight, and don't trust anyone who can tell you with a straight face and zero laughter, that they were inspired by Watchmen.


End file.
